Pendulum (Marauders Time Travel Story)
by KathRoyale
Summary: The war is lost. Hermione, after being tortured for months by Bellatrix, commits suicide and unintentionally sets off a sequence of events that leads to her presence in the past. A mutated spell sends her back in time to the Marauders era in which she struggles to alter the time frame of the past, all the whilst saving the lives of her new friends. Powerful!Hermione
1. Chapter 1

Hermione refused to scream. The curse hit her viciously, tearing into her flesh as she struggled against invisible chains. Hermione's cracked lips parted in a plea as her torturer released her spell. The young woman sagged against the dungeon.

There were obvious tear marks trailing down her cheeks but she was too tired to wipe them away. The blade sank into her skin like butter and the cursed knife she so hated carved words into her body.

 _Worthless._

It wasn't anything different that what she already knew. Blood trickled down her back as Bellatrix drew it into her spine.

 _Repulsive._

A wry smile tugged at her mouth, but it quickly disappeared. She wondered who else shared those views on blood purity.

 _Mudblood._

The word would haunt her for the rest of her days. The slur was the whole reason she was in this mess. Hermione questioned for the thousandth time how Voldemort had been deemed 'Bringer of Justice' by the Ministry.

 _Despicable._

And the list went on.

 _Dimwitted, Dirty,_ Gryffindor _._

Her lower lip trembled as she strained for her wand. A mere five feet away, splayed across the floor from where it had fallen.

Gryffindor. Was that a bad thing? Hermione couldn't bring herself to care. She vaguely heard somebody snarling in the background and felt little pinpricks along her arms. It was as if she had become immune to the pain.

"Where is he?" Bellatrix hissed, yanking her head back. " _Where is Potter_?" Hermione's bushy hair seemed to protest, blood and dirt falling from her matted locks.

Hermione steeled herself.

Another bout of the Cruciatus slammed into her, and she finally sobbed into the ground. Her arms dropped uselessly to her sides and she let out a piercing shriek, her voice cracking every second. She clamped her twitching arms over her mouth and Bellatrix frowned.

"Scream, little mudblood," she huffed as she throttled her neck. Bellatrix almost sounded sane. "You _will_ be begging for death by the time I'm finished with you." She drew her lips back in a sneer, exposing her putrid teeth.

Hermione couldn't help but shudder. Her wand… Another inch… Her hands closed on empty air and she silently willed it to come to her.

"Oh silly little girl," Bellatrix cooed. "You think you can use wandless magic here? My lord has had some lowly followers suppress your core. It wasn't hard. You are only a mudblood after all." Bellatrix kicked her in the ribs and Hermione cried out, her throbbing chest screaming in protest.

Her cruelty knew no bounds. Her wand sat there, on a small pedestal, mere centimeters away from her outstretched fingers.

Hermione willed the wand towards her. Perhaps it was a mirage, perhaps she was finally hallucinating, but she saw it moving. Blood from her head leaked into her eyes and she thought she'd finally lost it. Her vision clouded, her fingers twitched uselessly and…

The wand flew into her hand.

Bellatrix's head whipped around, her piercing violet eyes catching sight of the weapon immediately.

"Impossible," she gasped reverently. "My lord… he said this would work..."

"Silencio," Hermione hissed quickly. Bellatrix's eyes conveyed her rage, and she reached for her wand.

"Reducto," Hermione growled, breaking her left chain. "Bombarda!" Hermione dragged herself to her feet and stumbled, struggling to support herself.

"You little bitch," Bellatrix snarled, once she had gotten her voice back. "You don't have my quarter any longer." She aimed her wand.

"Avada Kervada!" Bellatrix screamed. Hermione threw herself out of the way of the curse. Rubble rained down on her, leaving yet another bloody scar on her neck.

"Crucio!" Hermione snarled back. Regardless of what the Death Eaters thought, she was more than competent with a wand. It had taken the entire Inner Circle to capture her, and she had managed to sever Malfoy's right hand from his body.

"Reducto!" She retaliated, and Hermione barely had the strength to cover her head with her hands before the heavy boulders rained down on her. She felt her shoulder crack and knew that at least two bones were broken.

She struggled to point her wand at her collar. "Episkey," she muttered, though she knew the spell wasn't strong enough.

"Ferula," she tried hopefully. All it did was intensify the pain in her throbbing chest. "Merlin's saggy left - "

"Avada Kervada!" Bellatrix roared, and Hermione ducked behind the rocks that had just fallen. She felt them explode in her face and spat out bits of flint.

Thinking quickly, she drew a rune in midair: the rune for time. She was about to manipulate it to slow her opponent down, when the woman leapt to her feet.

"Avada Kervada!" Bellatrix screamed for the final time.

The dark emerald spell passed through the floating rune and changed: a deadly blue mistle that embedded itself into Hermione's lungs.

Blood filled her air passageways as she struggled to breathe, the vile red liquid gurgling in the back of her throat. Bellatrix looked at her in slight regret and bemusement.

"Well, that's never happened before," she said, dragging the words out slowly. "What rune was that? Kill? Maim? Does the poor baby even know those words?" Even if Hermione had tried to answer, she couldn't.

Hermione couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe… breathe… white light started to form at the corners of her vision. Stay _awake_ , she chanted repetitively in her head.

The light threatened to block out her view of the woman, the mass murderer. Neville's parents. Harry's godfather. Molly Weasley. _Ron_ Weasley. Luna bloody Lovegood. Everyone. Kill her, _kill_ her.

"It's a pity." Bellatrix said abruptly. "This little rebellious streak has gone too far. Don't worry your pretty little head, mudblood. We'll crack you. The Dark Lord is in no hurry." Hermione grit her teeth. After months of torture, they still thought she was naive.

She longed for death, embraced Thanatos like an old friend. Her fingers twitched around her wand. Bellatrix was already ducking, dodging, but Hermione just laughed, the raspy voice sounding unfamiliar to even her.

"Avada Kervada," she whispered, pointed at her chest. The light in her eyes died. Her pulse softened, before it faded altogether. Bellatrix rose silently from where she had lay, looking at the body of a mudblood.

"It is done," she murmured to herself. "Please, my lord, forgive me. She attacked me, I had no intention of killing her." With this small prayer, she left the prison cell, the cavern that stank of urine and decaying body parts.

"Forgive me my lord," she said again, just before she left the room. For a few minutes, there was silence. Bellatrix didn't see a blue glow emanating from Hermione's chest and she didn't hear the moan of pain that was torn from her lips. She didn't see the body mysteriously vanish into thin air.

* * *

The world was spinning. There were different flashes. A boy laughing. A girl singing. A man dying. She shuddered. She couldn't breathe. There was nothing, nothing but oblivion. The strange ripples that she saw soon smoothed out into one landscape, and Hermione smiled as she recognised Hogwarts.

It was beautiful.

Hermione knew, at that very moment, that she was home. She was certain she would see her friends and parents again. How she missed Ronald, her Ronald, and poor Mr. Weasley. And how could she have forgotten Fred? Or George for that matter? She would see them soon.

Oh, how very wrong she was.

She expected a soft landing, but what she got was quite the opposite. Hermione slammed into a skull. A living, breathing skull attached to a living, breathing, boy. She couldn't quite see anything but his dark hair, and she was quite sure he could see nothing but the ground she had pressed his face into.

"Love," he mumbled through the dirt, "I know birds fall for me, but you're not supposed to fall _on_ m-"

She screamed, jumping away from him in terror. Hadn't she escaped? She didn't recognise him, but she wasn't about to take any chances. Her hands fumbled desperately for a wand that wasn't there and she realized the Death Eaters must have taken it before they had brought her here.

He finally looked up, seemingly frozen as he took in her broken appearance. She had blood caked across her entire body, dirt and dust trailing over her sooty face and held her shoulder in a small makeshift splint. Her skin was scissored with scars and she quickly turned away from him as to preserve her modesty.

"Stop staring," she growled, rage roaring in her veins. At least it drew his attention up to her face. His complexion had paled, and Hermione whipped around to look behind her. What a Death Eater would be doing in a perfect incarnation of Hogwarts… she had no clue.

But there was something about his startling grey eyes.

"Bloody hell mate," the boy muttered, addressing someone other than her, "This bird... I dunno, she fell from the sky." The trio behind her looked at Hermione in almost abstract horror, but she only had eyes for one.

A surge of relief took hold as the jawline, eyebrows and hair came back to her.

" _Harry_!" She sobbed, running into his arms. Harry seemed confused, but he patted her back anyway, murmuring soothing words.

She let herself be consoled for a minute before stepping back and slapping him as hard as she could.

"How could you have let Ginny get captured? She died right in front of me, refusing to tell Malfoy where you were." She rambled. Harry rubbed his cheek, looking dazed. "If only Ron could see us now," she added quietly to herself. But there was something off about him. He didn't seem right. It was as if there was something… missing.

Hermione's blood froze. Tears filled her eyes and she sobbed, physically flinching away from him as she held out her hands, conjuring a forcefield. His eyes. Where were his beautiful, emerald eyes? And his scar. How could she have been so blind?

This wasn't even Harry. The Death Eaters didn't even know how he looked. Harry, _her_ Harry. If they were going to create an illusion where everyone she loved was alive, it was a poor plan.

Tears swam in her eyes as she mentally reviewed the textbook.

 _Section 341; Wandless Magic by Wenda Wilkins:_

 _Wandless magic is a powerful skill that not many possess. A few prime examples of such incredible talent is Albus Dumbledore himself. Another: Gellert Grindelwald. However, it should be noted that wandless magic is for basic usage only, and Grindelwald stopped practicing after three years because he discovered it could not be harnessed to kill._

She had killed herself. _She had!_ Yet here she was, very much alive. She took her pulse just to be sure. Her heart pounded like a bird attempting to free itself from a cage.

"Mate," the original boy said quietly, walking up to her. "We have to take you to the Headmaster. He'll know what to do."

Hermione didn't react. "Headmaster?" She spat. "In this demented universe? Who is it then? I'll bet it's Tom. Tell me it isn't Tom."

One of the other boys scratched the back of his head nervously. His bookbag looked like he was weighing him down and a bright prefect badge glinted on his chest.

"Er, I don't think we have a Tom on staff," he offered. There were bags under his eyes and his clothes looked worn, as if they had been used far too many times. "The Headmaster is Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione wanted to burst into another bout of hysterical tears, but managed to hold her head high. "Go ahead," she said, almost laughing. "Take me to 'Albus Dumbledore'."

The final boy, slightly plump, motioned to the castle. "Let's go then," he said rather impatiently. "We don't have all day."

Harry, _no, not Harry,_ she corrected herself, whacked the boy's arm.

"Pete, you don't talk to someone like that," he hissed, anger lacing his tone. "I'll bet she was out in the battle, the one with You-Know-Who!"

Still maintaining the shield around herself, she walked forward, ignoring the boy's protests. To their immense surprise, she took one of the hidden passageways from the Marauder's Map up to the office and stopped at the large statue guarding the Headmaster's room.

"Password," it croaked.

The boys looked at one another and shrugged.

"Uh, blood pops?" The boy who was not Harry suggested.

"Sugar Quills," one of them guessed.

"Sugar _Mice,_ " said the one with the ragged looking appearance. "Honestly. It's like trying to train monkeys."

"You know you love us Remy," the boy she had fallen on cooed. Hermione shuddered at his voice. It sounded far too much like Bellatrix for her liking. And those grey eyes. With just a sliver of purple in them and they would be identical to that of her captor.

The door ground loudly against the frame, and Hermione hopped on the stairwell as it started moving upward. She sagged against the doorframe, and stumbled rapidly as it opened.

"Oh!" She gasped as she tripped, sprawling across the floor. The headmaster looked up in surprise. Well, at least they got Professor Dumbledore right, she thought tiredly as she ignored the hands helping her up.

The elderly man was an exact replica of what Hermione had known, from the beard to the bright twinkle in his left eye.

Hermione didn't even blink. She entered the man's mind, determined to tear it to shreds and expose his true appearance. She raked knives down the man's defence, but though he winced slightly, his barriers did not even come close to faltering.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

The man's voice resonated with power and he directed the Elder wand at her. It was yet another mistake the Death Eaters had made when designing him. In fact, it looked as if he was years before his time. Years… before… his… time…

The thought finally struck her and for the first time she considered the possibility of time travel. She forced it out of her mind after a second. Voldemort had a game, and the fact that she was falling for it was unacceptable.

Still, she couldn't shake the small sliver of hope that had surfaced in her mind.

"Who is this?" The headmaster asked coldly. His voice resonated with power, and Hermione was struck with a sudden shame. "You intrude my office and then attack me with legilimency? How have you fooled these students into helping you?"

"It is none of your concern," she snarled, almost savagely. "If you are who you claim to be, give me a sign. Tell me..." She desperately searched her mind. "Tell me if you fell in love with Gellert Grindelwald."

His wand clattered out of his grip and he stared, open mouthed at her. The rest of the boys had similar expressions, mostly horror at the audacity of her question. They stood in silence for about two minutes, the boys' lips twitching at Dumbledore's dumbstruck expression.

"Out," Dumbledore roared suddenly. His entire form trembled with rage. "Out, everyone out!" The smiles died on their faces. The one who was not Harry shot a look of concern at her before walking quickly away from the office.

The door finally slammed shut.

"What do you want?" Dumbledore growled. "I will not give you money to keep that secret. Who are you working for? Tom? Another Dark Lord?"

Hermione shook her head. "It is you that is working for him. For all I know, you could be Riddle himself. I am going to ask you questions, and if you don't answer every single one of them correctly, I will kill myself, _again_ , before helping you."

Dumbledore had a completive look on his face. "Very well," he said, looking far more composed and even slightly befuddled. He looked far more similar to the professor she had known than the powerful sorcerer he had been a few seconds ago.

"Who killed Ariana Dumbledore?" The question seemed to hit him hard. His knuckles were so white Hermione could almost see through them.

"I don't know," he said horsely.

Hermione nodded, not the least bit fazed. The Death Eater had probably read "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore".

"Correct," she said clearly. "Who was the founding leader of the Order of the Phoenix?" Dumbledore's eyes flashed dangerously and he regarded her with the wariness of an enemy.

"I founded the Order of the Phoenix," he said quietly. "It began with 14 members."

Hermione paused. The number of original members? That was information she had only learned about from memories that Severus Snape had left for her.

"List five of the fourteen members," she said slowly, not daring to hold her breath.

"Charlus Potter, Dorea Potter, Arabella Figg, Alastor Moody and Andromeda Black." Hermione wet her lips with her tongue. She didn't think anymore questions were necessary.

"Please," she asked imploringly. "Swear on your life that you are Albus Dumbledore, not an impersonator."

The professor raised his right hand, his eyes almost softening as he looked at her pleading face. He seemed to think on it for a second before looking determined.

"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore swear on my life and magic that I am, in fact, telling the truth about my identity." Hermione couldn't help it. She burst into tears again, and flung herself at the man.

Though taken aback, her Professor embraced her gently, murmuring gentle words.

"I-I..." Hermione stammered inherently. "I don't know what to say." More tears rolled down her cheeks. "I don't know if this is real. It seems so _real_."

She felt her heart clench. If she allowed herself to believe what her mind was telling her, she was giving into weakness. The Death Eaters would tear it away from her in an instant.

Dumbledore fixed his eyes on her. "I'm afraid I do not recognise you though you are wearing…" He pointed at the tiny animated tattoo on the back of her wrist. Hermione smiled slightly. He was just as observant, if not more than she had thought.

The little Gryffindor lion roared in silence as it reared back on it's hind legs.

"Professor," she said shakily. "I think - my theory… I was born on..." She trailed off, not quite sure of what she was saying. She could be completely wrong. Perhaps this was simply an alternate future.

"What year is it Sir?" She demanded quietly.

Dumbledore looked at her, slightly shocked. "1977, my dear. Are you feeling quite alright?"

Hermione felt a lump in her throat as he confirmed her suspicions. "Professor, I was born in 1979. So if I do the math correctly, I'm negative two years old."

Dumbledore looked grim, but not surprised. "What is your name?" He asked curtly, and Hermione suddenly missed his normally cheerful personality.

"Hermione Jean Granger, Sir," she said quietly. "I am dreadfully sorry for attacking you like that. In my time you had been dead for many years."

His bushy white eyebrows raised. "I must have lived an exponentially long time then," he commented offhandedly.

"Yes Sir," she responded sadly.

"Would you be willing to swear an oath?" Dumbledore asked, slight warning creeping into his voice. Hermione blinked back her tears, cursing herself for being surprised. This Dumbledore didn't know her. _This_ Dumbledore didn't know how much she'd sacrificed for the war effort.

"Of course, Professor," she said, just as tightly. She took a controlled breath and lit the tip of her finger. "I, Hermione Jean Granger swear that I have not lied in the past fifteen minutes to Albus Dumbledore."

The orb above her finger flickered green.

Dumbledore relaxed slightly. "There was a prophecy, child. Though," he kept his eyes steadily on her face, "you have suffered far more than any student I've ever seen. I… I am sorry."

Hermione kept her head up. "Your pity is not necessary," she said, her fists clenching. Without a home, she felt cold and empty. "Would it too much trouble to ask for a place to stay?"

Dumbledore eyed her warily. "This is war," he reminded her. "I have spare rooms. However, you must first swear that you are not, and do not plan to, work with Tom Riddle."

Hermione's eyes narrowed into chips of ice. "Professor, that is a rather sore subject. I am one out of two survivors of my friends and family. I would advise you not push me."

His blue eyes crackled with intensity.

"I need the oath, Miss Granger. It is hard to trust you without it." Hermione evaluated him with her own even stare. He made no move to attack, even when she had basically told him she would not swear.

"I," She growled out, "Hermione Jean Granger, swear that I have never been in league with Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, and I have no intention of ever serving him."

Dumbledore relaxed. A box in the corner of the room floated gently down to rest on his lap. He smiled wryly, handing her an old dusty book at the very bottom of the stack.

"My sister's favorite novel," he said, seeming to have trouble holding his smile. "You remind me of her greatly."

Hermione felt strangely touched. "Thank you sir," she said quietly. The instant her fingers touched the base of the book, it seemed to glow with a golden light. Small bits of silver and bronze melded into her skin, and the wand seemed to emanate brighter.

Dumbledore's hands shook. "It never did that for Ariana," he said longingly. "It is a study of raw magical power."

Hermione felt a stab of pity as she recalled the young woman's fate. "I'm sorry Professor," she said sadly. "I didn't know her personally. Aberforth has a portrait of her in his bar, I'm sure she'd love some company."

Dumbledore shook his head immediately. "Aberforth will have nothing to do with me," he said firmly, seeming to shake himself out of the daydream.

Hermione looked at him knowingly. "Your brother misses you more than you think. Go talk to him, Professor. You don't want to carry this guilt to the grave."

Dumbledore seemed to think about it carefully. "I will try," he said quietly. "However, I do not have high hopes."

Hermione smiled. "Give me a chance, Professor. Gryffindors have to be good at something, after all. Recklessness isn't our only strength."

Dumbledore nodded absentmindedly. "I don't quite know what to do about your situation, Miss Granger. It is clear by your… unique situation that we will have to arrange something until you can be sent back home."

Hermione didn't know what to think.

"No!" She burst out suddenly. "You can't. That future is terrible. Everybody is dead. Everybody is dead."

Dumbledore looked greatly ashen, as he held his head in his gnarled hands. "You cannot tell me more," he said, looking more exhausted by the second.

Hermione couldn't help the guilt that welled up in her as she realized what she had said. Am I really going to leave Harry to his death? She wondered. Hermione hardened her resolve. Harry would never be sent to the Dursley's. He would have a childhood.

That thought alone was enough to force the words out of her mouth. "Professor, you can't. I can help you win the war. I know everything! Nagini! Horcruxes! Everything!"

Dumbledore stilled. "Horcruxes."

Hermione nodded, feeling a giddy relief that she finally got some emotion out of her old professor. "Yes sir," she said immediately. "There were - "

"Stop!" Dumbledore roared. His pupils were dilated with rage and he was shaking. "You must _not_ Miss Granger. Nothing can be told. Subtly manipulate the timeline. Only tell me what is absolutely necessary. When we hunt for the horcrux, you must not tell me even an hour before. I fear what would happen if the information fell into the wrong hands."

"Horcruxes." Hermione corrected softly. "Horcruxes, Professor. I'm sorry, but you needed to know that."

Dumbledore expressed his fury through his eyes. "Miss Granger, if you were any less important to winning this war I would not hesitate in wiping your mind clean."

Hermione felt a dark feeling expand in her chest. "One more threat, Professor," she said, her voice suddenly cold. "You may be powerful, but I am a fighter. If another of my friends is killed by your "Greater Good" theory…" Hermione couldn't even breathe through the emotion she was feeling.

"As grateful as I am to see you alive, I have not forgotten how many deaths you have caused. Don't underestimate me. Just because I am on your side does not mean I have no issues with you," she said, struggling to control herself.

Dumbledore looked suitably ashamed. "Miss Granger, I think that we are both not thinking straight right now. I will have the house elves escort you to a teacher's chamber for the evening. Would that be alright with you?"

Hermione nodded her head. "A female teacher is expected, of course," she added.

"Indeed, I believe my deputy should be suitable," he replied tiredly. "The first years are arriving tomorrow. We normally give the older years a few extra days to settle in before they get here. Something about receiving a warm welcome, I believe."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You expect me to fit in with a bunch of seventh years?" She demanded. "I am nineteen, professor. Even I can't pull that off. I've been on the run for three years. There's just no way in hell."

"Miss Granger, my monitor at the door gave me the exact readings of your age. It says that you are seventeen. You will fit in brilliantly with the rest of the seventh years." Hermione's mouth fell open.

"It says what?" She gasped, looking incredulous.

Dumbledore suddenly smiled wryly. "Perhaps fate is playing a cruel trick on you, Miss Granger. I will quote you on this, when you say, _'I'm negative two years old.'_ This could have some connection with your current age. It is completely possible that your other self and you merged somehow. After all, nineteen subtracted by two is equal to seventeen."

Hermione silently agreed. It certainly explained the confusion she had faced at the beginning of her descent onto the Hogwarts grounds.

"I agree Sir. That seems to be the most logical explanation," she said. He nodded in approval.

"Bright and early tomorrow, Miss Granger. The first years are sorted at precisely seven o'clock. Please meet me in the Great Hall, I will have to introduce you beforehand." He reached under his desk, bringing forth a uniform, complete with a blank tie that was free of any house colors.

"I have an entire closet down there," he said in response to her curious look. "While you are the first time traveler, there have been many forgotten uniforms over the years." Hermione smiled slightly at that.

Her eyes flickered to the small chiming clock at the corner of Dumbledore's desk. It was already one in the morning. Hermione silently sighed to herself. She had lived without sleep before and she could do it again, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

She just couldn't believe that she and Dumbledore had been talking for such a long time. It seemed that two seconds ago she had been screaming, ready to rip his head off.

"One more request," she said, just as she was about to leave.

He nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I… my parents had originally wanted to name me Hermia. I do not wish to reveal my identity in case your theory is incorrect and Hermione Granger is born in this world. Please, call me Hermia Johnson."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "Hermia is too obvious a name. It will not be hard to piece the puzzle together if you keep it that way."

Hermione nodded, though it felt like she was giving up something precious. "Third choice: Rosalie," she said quietly. "My father loved the letter 'R' while my mother loved 'H'." Hermione smiled, remembering her parents. "It was quite an interesting quirk they both had."

"Well, Rosalie Johnson, it is a pleasure to meet you," Dumbledore said, smiling as well. Hermione grasped his offered hand and shook it.

"Thank you Professor. Shall we go to Minerva now?" She asked curiously.

His eyebrows raised, perhaps for the uptenth time that evening. "You've met Minerva? I must say, you do know people here."

Hermione nodded. "It'll be upsetting that she won't remember me, but I hope she will remember Rosalie Johnson instead."

Dumbledore smiled. "Wise words for somebody so young," he said mildly. "Ah, I believe this is our stop." He pressed the little lion shaped keyhole.

"Minerva? Are you there?" There was no response. After a few minutes however, the door swung open.

"Albus!" Minerva hissed, sounding very much like the tabby cat she took the form of. "I assume you had a _very_ good reason to wake me up at this ungodly hour."

"Yes, Minerva, I'm very sorry to disturb you. There's going to be a new transfer student at Hogwarts this year. She's called Rosalie Johnson. Would you mind if she borrowed your couch for the night?" Dumbledore asked, a hint of laughter creeping into his voice.

"Of course not! But guests, Albus? You could have given me some forewarning!" Minerva looked royally pissed. "At this time too! Well, let the poor girl in if she…" She woman trailed off as Hermione stepped in the light.

"Oh Merlin," she mumbled. "Is that your blood, Miss Johnson?" Hermione forced herself to nod.

"Yes Professor," she said hastily. "Would it be too much trouble to allow me to take a shower?" Her face was flaming, she hoped to remove the layers of dirt and grime. She couldn't imagine the horrible impression she was leaving on her transfiguration teacher.

"Of course!" The teacher said, still looking shocked. "Er, go on then. It's down the hall, first door on your left…" She looked uncertain. "Would you like some disinfectant?"

Hermione nodded, having experience with such injuries. "Yes please, Professor. Can I have a blood replenishing potion and a numbing one as well?"

It was Dumbledore who answered this time. "Of course," he said firmly. "I will be back in a few minutes with the potions. Madam Pomfrey will be most upset with me for waking her, but I'm sure she will be pacified when she learns it is for a student." He strode away, his unusually bright purple robes swinging atrociously behind him.

Hermione shuddered. "Those robes have to go."

Professor McGonagall turned to look at her with amusement in her eyes. "I tell him that every time, but I suppose he's got to have some hobby."

'Rosalie' exchanged a warm smile with the woman that had been Hermione Granger's mentor.

"I guess," she agreed. "But he should develop a lemon drop obsession soon." Professor McGonagall looked at her curiously.

"Whatever do you mean, Miss Johnson?" She asked confusedly.

Hermione smiled to herself. "Nothing of importance," she said dismissively. "He just looks like the type of person who likes lemon drops." She turned around and went quickly to the bathroom, trying to hide the smile that had sprung up on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione hiccuped, her mind a kaleidoscope of shattered emotions. She didn't quite know what was becoming of her unusual situation; was almost incapable of grasping that this was not, in fact, a dream.

She had just finished sobbing, rather hysterically, in the arms of her mentor, Minerva McGonagall. Not that her teacher knew this, of course.

It was as of that moment that Hermione realized something rather important. She had nowhere to go - no identity - and worst of all, no family or friends.

"Are you alright dear," Minerva asked, handing her a cup of honey tea with a look of concern cast across her shadowed face. In that moment, she was so reminiscent of Molly Weasley that she had to struggle not to burst into a second bout of tears.

Hermione forced herself to nod, pallid features tiredly acknowledging what needed to be done.

"I'm so sorry Professor. May I go to Madam Pomfrey for one second? I suppose it was rather silly of me not to go yesterday." Her entire body was wracked with spasms, the same kind she had been feeling constantly for many months. It usually came in the mornings, when her body had time to adjust to the daily rounds of Cruciatus.

"Of course," her Professor said thoughtfully, looking mildly angry that she hadn't thought of it before. "Absolutely terrible that no one thought to mention it to me. We'll go at once."

She hesitated for a mere second, a suspicious look clouding her expression. "How did you know about Poppy?"

Hermione bit her lip uncertainly. "I've known Dumbledore for a great many years," she said vaguely. That was, in most terms, true. "He speaks of his co-workers often." Also true.

She nodded slightly, as if pacified, and Hermione gave a tiny sigh of relief. She stumbled slightly as Minerva helped her up, but managed to get into a steady pace and walk, only with slight stumbling as her body unintentionally twitched.

Halfway there, a particularly violent spasm shook her, and she fell to the floor with a thud. Professor McGonagall lunged forward but failed to catch her. Hermione winced, her wandless glamor over her bruises fading slightly as she shifted.

Minerva noticed the sickly sheen fade and be replaced with the large purple bruising that extended over her entire body. Her throat clenched up as she studied the fury in McGonagall's eyes.

"What happened to you, Miss..."

"Lovett," Hermione quickly supplied, her frantic mind quickly combining 'Lovegood' and 'Potter'. She inwardly grimaced. "And I'd rather not say Professor. It's private."

"...Johnson," Minerva finished, her eyebrows creased directly over her smoldering eyes. "I do believe that is what the Headmaster told me."

Hermione's face burned. "Johnson was my mother's maiden name," she lied jerkily. "I alternate between Johnson and Lovett, however I prefer Lovett."

McGonagall nodded curtly, though it appeared completely unimpressed. A sliver of panic made itself known inside her pupils as she recalled where they were.

"Miss Lovett, you are not to move." Hermione opened her mouth to protest but years of training had her seal her mouth shut as she flinched from the esteemed _glare_ that McGonagall seemed to have perfected.

"Yes, Ma'am," she promised. She didn't complain as the Professor lifted her in the air with a swift _wingardium leviosa,_ and gently guided her to the infirmary.

"Poppy!" McGonagall called, walking as fast as her pointed shoes would allow her. "A student has been injured." The phrase seemed to roll off of her tongue so easily that Hermione had no choice but to assume that there were students who often got hurt.

"Minerva," Madam Pomfrey barked, her soft dulcet tones reduced to harsh growling. "What are you doing at _five in the morning_?" Hermione blinked in surprise, and she suddenly reached the comprehension that she had slept through an entire day.

"Madam Pomfrey, please don't be angry," Hermione broke in, her hands raised slightly. "I asked to come see you, I meant no offence." She hadn't forgotten that she and the nurse had been on friendly terms, even leading to Hermione taking up a healing apprenticeship.

Her eyes softened. "I know all my students, my girl, and you are not one of them. What happened to you?" Hermione didn't know how to begin. Minerva gently set her down in a small bed to the side.

"Madam Pomfrey, I would rather not explain. Can you just cast a statistic charm on me please?" Hermione didn't want to watch, but though she had pursued a mastery in healing, she hadn't gotten very far before abandoning the theory to hunt the horcruxes.

The healer nodded, looking more concerned by the second. As she cast the spell, she was speechless as a magnitude of holograms refracted from Hermione's body, spreading out in the air. The number of spells exceeded the entire infirmary, spilling out into the hallways and classrooms.

There was a moment in which no one seemed to breathe, studying the rapid, strange, distortion of torture spells.

 _Cruciatus, Septumptra, Videlnons, Ascendio._

She knew them all. Bellatrix, especially had a fetish for the fire curse, blackening her skin and healing so that she could go through it again.

A piercing shriek filled the deafening silence and Madam Pomfrey fainted dead to the floor. Hermione hid her shaking head in her knees as she wept.

McGonagall's trembling fingers grasped her leg as she hugged her. It was rather strange for her to hug a student, rather unorthodox, however, she did it anyway.

"I'm so sorry," McGonagall breathed, and Hermione's eyes suddenly hardened, muscles tensing and shoulders strengthening.

"I don't want your pity," she said quietly, but with a voice that indicated anger. McGonagall withdrew her arms tentatively, but then wrapped them around her again.

"This isn't pity, Miss Lovett," she said gently. "This is empathy."

Hermione couldn't help but accept the hug. However, in half a heartbeat, there was a strange rustling in the middle of the beds and the rush of a curtain. There was the small tap of a footstep and in a half second Hermione had the intruder bound on the ceiling.

Minerva gasped and rushed away, seemingly ignoring that she had done it wandlessly and in a weakened state.

The boy, she recognized him. He was one of the ones from yesterday - the one strangely reminiscent to herself. Sandy, dirty brown hair streaked with wisps of blonde, and a pair of bookish glasses hanging from his sweater. His legs, the only part of him Hermione could see, were covered in small scratches and bruises.

"Miss Lovett!" McGonagall hissed, her kindly demeanor acting as if it was put on hold. "Release Mr. Lupin at once!" Hermione's jaw dropped, her gaze shooting to the student.

Mr _Lupin_? What the actual _fuck_? Hermione didn't realize she had screamed the muggle swear until the Professor glared at her so menacingly that she couldn't decide whether she needed to go the the bathroom of just freeze in abstract terror.

Meanwhile, her mind was racing a mile a minute _. Remus Lupin_? Of course she would be unfortunate enough to end up in the same time as him, and from his build and the weary look she had assumed he had developed far into the future, the same _year._ Though she felt dead with shock, her body managed to respond to her Professor's command.

"Sorry, Professor," she stammered, still stunned, and waved her hand. The teen unfroze, falling from the ceiling into her arms. McGonagall caught him with an _omph_ , and lifted him gently back to his bed.

"Mr Lupin," she repeated sternly, and it was at that moment that Hermione noticed the large luminescent orb in the sky. It was the full moon. Of course, she wasn't idiotic enough to mention this fact to the other inhabitants of the room.

"You are not to eavesdrop!" She continued, looking rather infuriated. Remus looked properly pacified but still nervous, and it was then Hermione picked up small shuffling. Her ears perked; a year of being a panther animagus had enhanced her hearing by almost thirty.

"Stop," Hermione whispered, trying to pinpoint the sound. Remus's fidgeting increased, staring at her with a sort of wary caution.

There was a second of silence.

" _Accio Potter Deathly Hallow Cloak_ ," Hermione bellowed, her voice gravelly and furious. She knew, from countless summonings that would respond to nothing else. The ordinary 'invisibility cloak' summon had no effect on it because it was a hallow, but that didn't mean she couldn't overpower her spell to cut off any other scenario.

There was a whipping sound as the wind shifted, the cloak flying through the air and landing in her outstretched palm. She glowered at the two boys standing there, both very pallid and one clutching a rat in his right palm.

Pettigrew.

She didn't give any indication that she knew, simply allowing her lips to curl in a defiant smile, one that had enraged a certain insane death eater thousands of times.

"Get out," she said simply. The rat fled immediately, jumping out of Sirius's palm and scurrying away, but the boy who was Harry, and not Harry, frowned, taking a non-threatening step towards her. Nonetheless, she raised her hand in an immediate reaction and he raised both above his head. Sirius did the same.

McGonagall looked as if she would interrupt, but Hermione held up her other fist, clenched with the silvery cascades of the cloak in a universal motion. Stop.

The Professor pursed her lips in obvious annoyance but didn't intervene.

"That cloak," James said, sounding like a perfect replica of her best friend, "is a Potter family heirloom. I need it back Miss Lovett."

Hermione glowered at him, a clear testament to her deep dislike. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, I suggest you keep your large, disgusting noses out of where you do not belong." Ignoring Sirius's gaping mouth, she threw the cloak at them, hating herself for feeling as if she was giving something away.

It wasn't hers to give; it was James's. And one day, it would be Harry's, and he could share it with his friend, a lonely, bullied, affection-starved Hermione. Despite all that, Rosalie was a whole new person: a person who couldn't make permanent connections in this world or risk compromising the entire future.

"I said it once, and I will say it again," she growled, trying to extract a little bit of the murderous out of her gaze. "Get _out._ " It was such a shame that she couldn't obliviate them, but the many tales Harry had told her about his father and the rather humorous incidents that had occurred with Sirius had earned them respect in her book. Slight respect.

They nodded seriously, and without much haste, left. They rose another notch in her opinion. She was lost in her thoughts when McGonagall murmured,

"Argumenti," and allowed a jet of crystal clear water to splash the matron of the hospital in the face.

Poppy Pomfrey gasped awake, and immediately the spells appeared as the caster had recovered from unconsciousness. She looked like she was going to pass out again, so the Professor quickly cast the counter spell. The holograms fizzled out and McGonagall briskly helped her to her feet.

"Potions, Poppy," she reminded. "Anti-Cruciatus should be necessary. Do you have any in stock?" She slowly nodded and McGonagall smiled in encouragement.

"I don't think it is enough," she muttered, and the Professor's face fell. Hermione strained her ears to hear as the matron whispered into McGonagall's ear.

"She's been tortured for nearly a year, Minerva," the kindly woman whispered. McGonagall paled, her eyes widening in grief.

"Godric's saggy right - " she swore, only to be cut off.

"Sock, I'm sure you meant to say," Dumbledore said, smiling genially as he walked in. The lilt of his walk, the small steps he was taking, it was too practiced to be natural.

Adding in the atrocious violet robes and Hermione smelled something that seemed suspiciously like a band aid an raccoon threw up in a hot car. She cringed slightly at the mental image and rancid stench. The old man was harboring news, and it definitely wasn't good.

Hermione turned to face him. "Get it over with, Professor," she groused. "Today's not the worst day I've had. I can take some more."

Dumbledore nodded, the surprise registering on his face and was going to talk when Hermione interrupted him, raising her hand and smiling slightly.

"First, Headmaster, there is a very curious seventh year, Lupin, I believe, listening right behind that curtain." She raised an eyebrow, looking at him dubiously. "I knew you were different from before but this is disappointing."

Dumbledore frowned deeply at her, his eyebrows furrowing deeply.

"Miss Lovett!" McGonagall hissed, looking absolutely aghast. "That is _not_ how you speak to the Headmaster!" Dumbledore just sighed, silencing her with a look.

"Thank you for standing up for an tired wizard, Minerva, but she is in all cases correct. I did forget to check for other students." With a wave of the elder wand, he cast a silencing ward that incorporated only him and Hermione.

Looking slightly put out, McGonagall huffed indignantly and went to sit on one of the beds with Madam Pomfrey.

"I'm listening Professor,' Hermione said intently, looking at him curiously. "What's going on?" Dumbledore scratched his beard, looking terribly worried.

"I cannot appoint you as a student," he said rather bluntly. Hermione looked at him with no little amount of irritably.

"I appreciate you coming to tell me this in the morning, Professor, precise I'm sure, however, could this not wait until later? Surely it could have been figured out without my help."

Dumbledore shook his head. "There is nothing I can do. Hogwarts has not permitted someone so advanced to enter her seventh year."

Hermione blinked slightly, going over the words that had left his mouth. "Did you just say, that _Hogwarts_ is preventing me from becoming a student?"

Dumbledore shrugged, a strange gesture on the man she had idolized as a child. "I don't have the words to express the irregularity of this, Miss Granger. I don't know what happened, but you are too advanced for the seventh years. In fact, this morning I found a room with your name on it."

"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione said, still completely confused. "Hogwarts. The castle. The _castle_ talks?" As a girl who had spent her entire life ruled by statistics and rules, she had a hard time comprehending that the inanimate home-away-from-home she had lived in for six years was a succinct, living being.

"Yes," Dumbledore said patiently. "Lady Hogwarts is indeed. She is very happy with your arrival in the past, the very walls are vibrating with excitement."

Hermione couldn't help the small squeak of "she?" that spilled out of her mouth. Dumbledore finally smiled slightly and Hermione couldn't help but chuckle back in return.

"Indeed, Miss Granger. And as I was saying, I found a room with _your name_ on it. Not Rosalie Johnson, or," he said, catching her look, "as I've heard, 'Lovett', but your real name. The room was labeled Hermione Granger."

Hermione clenched her fists. "Does Lady Hogwarts have something _against_ me? I thought she was excited? Why would she display my identity so obviously?" Dumbledore shrugged, for the second time, something that Hermione couldn't help but find extremely strange.

"What was most curious, however, was that the room was the quarters assigned to the new Defense teacher I had appointed this year. Do you have any idea why this is?" His left eyebrow was arched, a mild question laced with a sliver of curiosity.

"No, sir," she responded, not needing to fabricate her look of bewilderment. "I have no idea."

Dumbledore just sighed. "I tried to change it several times, but the only thing the castle let me alter it to was Rosalie Lovett. And that isn't even the strangest thing. Miss Granger, well… May I call you Hermione?" She only hesitated for a second.

"Of course, Headmaster."

"Hermione, I received an owl from the previously mentioned Defense Professor, demanding to know why he had been released." Hermione opened her mouth in confusion, but Dumbledore shook his head silently and the confusion died on her lips.

"Hogwarts can send letters?" Was all that came out. She sighed, rolling her eyes at her stupidity. "Sorry, that was incredibly idiotic," she amended, ignoring the small, infuriating twinkle.

"Indeed, it was something that I, too, was not aware of." His response was carefully worded as if he wasn't telling the whole truth. Hermione decided to let it go, just that once time.

"So… where am I involved in this?"

Dumbledore just scratched the back of his beard thoughtfully. "You are intelligent Miss Gr… I mean - Hermione. The castle refuses to accept anyone else. What do you take that to mean?"

Hermione held her head in her hands. " _I'm_ the new Defense Professor, aren't I?"

His eyes glowed brighter, with something akin to amusement. That _damned_ twinkle.

"Will you stop twinkling?" She growled, then realized what she had said. "Sorry Headmaster," she apologized reluctantly.

She was officially losing it.

Months or torture and she didn't crack. Ten minutes, no, five, with the eccentric headmaster and she was already on the brink of insanity.

"I fucking _hate_ the past," Hermione muttered vehemently, looking miserable. Dumbledore and his terrible twinkling just seemed to continue.

"Hermione, as we are both teachers at the same institute, I insist you call me Albus." Hermione gutted him with her eyes.

"Not the time Dumbles." She hesitated for a second, but couldn't manage to completely disregard her habit of obeying authority. She muttered a quick apology after.

Despite all that, as well as the fact that she was twitchy and mentally deprived from any actual conversation, caused her to explode as his eyes glinted with humor.

" _Stop the fucking twinkling!"_ She snarled, just as he cast the sound ward away. There was a moment of silence as Madam Pomfrey returned with the potions, looking extremely scandalized. Hermione sighed, bringing her head to her palm.

"Did that just…?"

Dumbledore nodded, the laughter glinting in his eyes. "I believe the entire castle now knows your absolute distaste for sparkly things. As well as your enjoyment of the f-word."

"Oh grow up, Dumbledore," Hermione sighed. "Well, this is a fucking fabulous way to start my academic career."

McGonagall started, "Did she just say _academic career_?" Hermione almost laughed at the expression of horror that had made itself known on her mentor's face. Minerva had no idea that Hermione actually made a very impressive teacher, and rarely swore.

She blamed the slip of tongue on her the other members of the golden trio. It also could have possibly been the potions that Pomfrey had given her the day before.

Yes, that was most likely it.

* * *

Hermione had only a few weeks to prepare her schedule. She sighed again, running her fingers through her thick, still very bushy, hair. She wasn't here to model after all, and never usually bothered doing much with it at all.

Brushing a strand that repeatedly floated in front of her face, she eventually asked the matron of the hospital wing for a rubber band. With that in hand, she'd tamed the rabid beast others called _hair_ , and got on with it.

She had known, from the loud Hogwarts buzz that they were receiving a new teacher that year, one that none of the students had suspected. Rosalie Lovett was rather irritated about the whole thing, to be honest.

Because the school year had already begun, Dumbledore had been teaching defence lately, and would continue for at least another week until she recovered. The story was that she, or as the students were calling her, 'The Professor' was injured by Death Eaters in a supposed 'raid'.

It wasn't exactly a lie.

This made most of the students very eager to meet this alleged death eater fighter, and made them excited to learn from her. However, she was unsure how they would react to her age. Though mentally nineteen, she existed in seventeen year old body. That wouldn't be very promising to anybody, she had reluctantly admitted to herself.

Herself, if she had attended seventh year would have been extremely apprehensive of learning from a teacher whom was the same age as herself. A rustle in the corner of the room alerted her and she whipped her hand around to face the person.

Remus Lupin, stood, hands up in the universal symbol of surrender as he halted in his advancement.

"Hello," he said cautiously. His amber eyes were soft with an unidentifiable emotion. "My name is Remus. I'm afraid we got off on the wrong foot."

"Her - Rosalie Lovett," Hermione said, injecting a small amount of warmth into her smile. "It's alright. I know how curious students can be." He grinned as well and she suddenly noticed a rather roguish look to his grin. It appeared Remus Lupin wasn't always the bookish Professor she had always thought of him as.

"I don't want to overstep my boundaries, Rosalie," her muscles tightened. "But I was wondering what happened… to you." Hermione had already glamoured her scars.

"I'd honestly rather not say, Mr. Lupin," she responded. "I take no offence, but it's just rather private. I'd rather not tell anybody, not even Professor McGonagall." He nodded, about to walk away, but Hermione grasped his arm firmly.

"Mr. Lupin, it's not personal, I assure you." He looked at her for a second, before smiling and stopping his efforts to go back to his own bed. He took a seat at the chair beside her.

"Can I ask what you're doing instead, Rosalie?" Hermione chuckled, his inquisitive nature shone through even then. It appeared the wolf wasn't able to completely diminish the natural curiosity that emitted from Remus.

"Can you keep a secret, Mr. Lupin?" Hermione's voice was quiet. "Even from your friends?" He, as she had done before, tensed. His eyes suddenly liquid yellow, he bit his back teeth so hard Hermione thought she heard a crack.

"Will it harm anybody?" There was a slight moment of silence. Then Hermione laughed, the first in a long time. She didn't quite know what had brought the chortle on, but it just kept going and going, ringing endlessly in the empty wing. Remus eventually relaxed.

"Hardly," she responded, "I'm not going to make you swear an oath or anything, I'd just rather not be disturbed by that bunch of rowdy troublemakers while in the hospital."

A smile quirked at the edges of his mouth. "They grow on you," was all he said, his eyes gleaming, rather similarly to Dumbledore's.

She bit down the scowl of irritation; the words 'stop twinkling' floating on the tip of her tongue. Then she gave a dramatic bow, wincing as the her spine cracked.

"Meet Professor Lovett," she grinned, "your new Defense instructor."

His mouth dropped open, his tongue lolling just as she imagined Padfoot's mouth. She gently brought her fingers to his chin and closed his gaping jaws.

"You won't tell anyone, will you Mr. Lupin?" Her voice was quiet with warning and he seemed to understand. His mouth seemed to repeatedly fall open despite Hermione reaching over to close it every few seconds.

"No," he murmured. "Of course not Professor." She sighed, and though unprofessional drew him in for a hug. He seemed confused, but slowly untensed his muscles and hooked his wiry arms around her shoulders.

"How are your wounds, Mr. Lupin? Healing up?" Remus looked at her, a sliver of worry in his pupils as he wondered if she knew. He scratched the back of his head nervously, in the same manner that Hermione had seen Harry do a hundred times. Perhaps James had picked it up from Remus?

"I'm not injured, Professor. You're mistaken, it's just an upset stomach." Hermione raised an eyebrow, but she wanted to establish trust between her and the bookish Marauder. She crossed her arms, looked at him with a stern expression.

"Mr. Lupin," she said softly, "contrary to popular belief it is not hard to spot a werewolf." He flinched back and Hermione inwardly winced. She reached over to draw him into another hug and he eventually returned it, still trembling slightly.

"W-what?" He croaked eventually, when she released him. His hands were pallid and shaking and she could see the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"I am not an idiot, Mr. Lupin," she scoffed, "and you should not lie to your Professors. Classmates, I fully support lying, but not in a basic demonstration of trust." Remus looked at the ground in shame, but Hermione forced him to look her directly in the eye.

"Being a werewolf is not something that should be hidden, Mr. Lupin." Hermione stated in the firmest voice she could muster. "The Ministry is full of fools who can't recognize justice if it danced in front of them naked. It is a truly terrible sin that you've been forced to suffer so much and feel ashamed of who you are for no good reason."

He slowly nodded, as if just beginning to comprehend that she didn't hate him for what he was. Without ado, she sighed and opened her arms again. He didn't hesitate and hugged her back.

Hermione knew that it would be a difficult year, but at least she started it with a solidified friendship.

"Well, Mr. Lupin. Would you like to help me plan my second class?" Her voice was hopeful, her lips quirked upwards in a curious smirk. Remus grinned, already shuffling some papers that had been on her lap.

"Of course Professor."

* * *

 **Hello! I forgot to introduce myself last chapter. My name is Kathie and I'm so happy to be writing this fanfiction! I'm planning to start the next chapter already, so I hope you're all ready for quick updates. Please review and comment, as an author you know how important it is to encourage other authors too. I will update every 4-7 days approximately with updates about 5,000 words.**

 **Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.**

 **Love you guys 3**


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione bit her lip. The students were arriving, glowering and whispering about the person sitting in the Dumbledore's chair. By extension, the defence chair; _her_ chair. Her first class was the Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh years, including none of than Remus Lupin.

Hermione saw his slightly grubby robe from a mile away as he walked into the classroom and shot her a discreet thumbs up. She smiled widely at him, her chocolate eyes glowing with warmth.

Soon, three fourths of the seats were filled, and a girl with flaming red hair raised a tentative hand. The small whispering of the class soon dispersed, as if sensing what the girl was going to ask.

"Yes, Miss..." Hermione began, her smile dying on her face. She had a very good idea who the seventh year was. Her emerald eyes shone holes into Hermione's skull and she had to physically stop herself from recoiling with familiarity. Her heart stopped for just a second before she was able to go on.

"Evans," she supplied. "I've never seen you before in my life. I'm Head Girl, you see, and you can't be sitting in the Headmaster's chair. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She ignored Remus who was looking at Lily and willing her to stop talking with his eyes.

Despite that, Hermione managed a small, forced laugh. "That is very considerate of you, Miss Evans, however this is not Albus's chair. It is mine." There was a pause of silence as the students slowly realized the implications.

"Class," Hermione continued, not missing a beat, "I am Professor Lovett, and I will teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."

There was a sudden uproar, especially in the area mainly dominated by Slytherins. There was a clearly cut line between the red and green and Hermione had no intent to side with either. Her eyes were narrowed into slits of hazel and without much preparation she cast _sonorous._

"Quiet!" She bellowed at the top of her lungs, every syllable potent with magical power. Any previous whispering had died into nothing, and Lily Evans's face was as red as her hair.

"I'm sorry Professor," she said, looking rather horrified. "I didn't know you were teaching this class." Hermione accepted the apology with a graceful bob of her head, deeply aware of Slytherin politics and how they would react if she would respond.

"Now, students," Hermione continued, but didn't get more than a few words out of her lips. A blonde student stood, even slower than she could have anticipated. She silently turned to face him, her smile curved into a cold smile and her eyes glinting icily.

"Yes, Mr…" She said, but was rudely broken off. It was a wonder he had made it into Slytherin, his tactics were so brashly Gryffindor that she almost snorted.

"Malfoy." His voice was curt, deep and menacing and though he was almost a foot taller than her Hermione found it incredibly difficult to be intimidated by him.

"You are not fit to teach this class," he continued, his voice bordering on furious. "My father - " Hermione, at this point, couldn't resist the small chuckle that broke through her frozen persona. A few Gryffindors snickered at Lucius Malfoy's enraged expression.

Hermione quickly molded her face into the neutral mask she had long perfected.

"My father," Malfoy continued, trying not to snarl, "had already appointed a Defence Professor. Your services are unneeded, _Lovett_." It was the way he sneered her last name, the disgust clear in his voice as he made it abundantly clear that it wasn't a pureblood name.

That, in fact, was thing that made her fury swell. With that one word, he had managed to disrespect her and two of her closest friends, and most importantly, the parents they had treasured and watched _killed_.

Her voice was so frigid that it could cut through ice, and she did something she had promised herself she wouldn't do.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said tersely, "I am the teacher here whether you like it or not. You are a student and would do well to respect your boundaries of your superiors." His eyes glinted with rage just as she expected and she smoldered the tiny bit of triumph that had risen inside her ribcage.

"Absolutely not," he sneered, his eyes glowering at her. "My father will hear about this, and he _will_ \- " Hermione couldn't help it, she gave a small snort, still shaking with giggles after a few seconds. She maintained a straight face and nodded to Malfoy, who was vibrating in fury.

She couldn't believe that Malfoy was so similar to Draco in this era. She still had small hiccups of amusement throughout his speech and was tempted to just burst into obnoxious laughter. But that, of course, would leave a very negative impression on all her students. And she couldn't do that.

Her eyes still twinkling, she walked up to Malfoy, a false sense of cheer in her gait.

"Mr. Malfoy, how about we make a deal?" His eyes gleamed at this, the Slytherin in him finally analysing the benefits he could receive from the situation. His pale fingers were closed tightly in fists that slowly unclenched in suppressed excitement.

Hermione smiled, hiding the cruel under shadow to her gaze. "It is simple, really," she said neutrally. "I will duel the entire class." She ignored the dubious looks shot to her by the Gryffindors, and one extremely worried gaze. "If a student - just one of you manages to knock me unconscious, I will leave Hogwarts and never return."

Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened in triumph, certain that he would win this. "And if I lose?" The words seemed to be forcefully pulled from his mouth but he spoke them nonetheless.

"Then you never challenge my right to teach again." Malfoy seemed to understand that she was a woman of her word, despite loathing her muggle heritage, and reluctantly nodded. After all, Malfoy consoled himself; _he_ had never sworn any oath.

"Up!" Hermione barked, leaving half the class to jump to their feet. She banished the desks just outside. Her eyes gleamed wildly and she managed to mutter, "No deadly spells," before she took off. Hermione waved her hand and sent a stunner. Pettigrew, too unprepared to move, was down in an instant, his watery blue eyes frozen in an expression of confusion and dim-witted irritation.

Hermione grinned at the sudden indignation in the Marauders' eyes, as they leapt into the fray, attempting to take her down. Hermione stunned Dolohov and a boy she guessed was a Lestrange by his distinguishing violet eyes.

She flicked her wrists continuously, stunners soaring out of her palms and making contact with multiple bodies as they fell with a thud.

"Rictusempra," she hissed, hitting Remus with a tickling charm rather than giving him the simple peace of a stunner. It had already been two weeks since the full moon and he had visited her in the Hospital Wing to assure her he had completely healed.

Her eyes sparkled as she watched him struggle, the laughter bursting from his mouth, but then her heart stopped. He looked - he looked as if -

\- he was being _tortured._

She lifted the spell, suddenly rather pallid as she continued to fight. A slash of her hand and the other Lestrange fell to the ground. A fist suddenly made contact with her ear and she was stunned for a second, feeling the blood flowing from inside her ear. Her head was ringing as she put her hand up to assess the damage.

An anger that she had forgotten in the few weeks resurfaced.

"I never said physical violence was allowed!" Hermione roared, the loathing potent in her words. The phrase died on her lips as she turned to see the attacker and her hatred multiplied by tenfold: condensing into a single action.

It was Black. _Bellatrix_ Black. There was a short second that felt like an eternity as the Slytherin girl glared defiantly back. Then Hermione drew her fist back and with a satisfying _crunch_ shattered her nose. The woman fell to the ground, unconscious and Hermione stood for a second to catch her breath before kicking her and breaking a rib.

Immediately, she felt a wand pressing into her neck. She recognized the same muscles groups and shoulder structure that she had often noticed in Harry and sighed, turning her head to look at none other than his father.

"Yield?" James Potter demanded, his dark eyes boring into her own. She just looked at him, pityingly and wondering how on earth he was going to survive in the real world. A Death Eater would have split his skull had he tried to do that to them.

"No, Mr. Potter," she deadpanned and slid easily out of his grip. She spun around, delivering a roundhouse kick to his calves and knocking his feet out from under him. Hermione quickly stunned him, only to be faced with the furious _Avada Kedavra_ eyes of Lily Evans.

"Avis," she hissed, and Hermione was forced to duck as the tiny origami birds that she had practiced countless times pecked at her skin and drew tiny, bloody cuts.

What truly angered her, however, was the fact Lily Evans had disturbed her glamor. The scars, the cruel vile words that covered every inch of her skin flickered into view for just a second. She recast immediately and tried reassured herself that nobody had seen.

 _Incendio_ , Hermione cast silently, watching as the fragile wings of the paper birds caught aflame and ashes rained from the ceiling.

"Immobulus," Malfoy cast, finally appearing in the peripherals of her vision. Hermione glared at him, her hatred for him growing. Though he wasn't yet responsible for the murder of her beloved friend Luna, he was getting pretty damn close.

"Resorting to second year spells, are we, Mr. Malfoy?" She growled, snapping at him, mostly due to his previous insolence. Sirius Black was behind her and she weaved and dodged and ducked, not surprised he was the best dueler out of his friends.

He had held Bellatrix for some time after all, in the Department of Mysteries. Finally, she lunged. She hooked her arm around his left tendon and pulled, watching as his legs collapsed from under him.

"Yield?" she teased, smiling, and then shot a stunner at him. Sirius's impressed yet baleful expression had brought a grin to her face and she quickly ducked and stealthily stunned Lily Evans. Her red hair splayed on the floor like blood and it brought back terrible memories from the war.

"Sectumsempra," Severus Snape snarled, and Hermione was so startled that she almost didn't react in time.

Anger surged through her, the thought of he could have done to a student if they hadn't moved fast enough. She suddenly recalled something from a memory Harry had shown her, something rather cruel. She did it nonetheless.

 _Levicorpus,_ she cast silently and watched as he was slung up into the air by a single foot. The rash act lost her precious time. Severus Snape, though lacking in physical appearance, was a very talented dueler.

They exchanged quick fire spells for nearly a minute before his eyes rolled up to the back of his head. Hermione slunk into his not fully formed occlumency barriers and forced him into full unconsciousness.

Soon, all that was left was Malfoy. He seemed to have lost most of his confidence as he watched his friends and fellow duelers taken down by what he had perceived as a simple half-blood woman. Hermione stalked towards him and he couldn't help but stumble back a step.

Without further ado, he sent a stunner as well as a dark purple curse that looked as if it could severely injure somebody. Hermione just smiled serenely, a sight Malfoy found more intimidating than her rage.

"How does it feel," she said quietly as she cast a ring of sapphire blue fire around him. "To know that you were beaten wandlessly," he licked his lips nervously, disliking where her words was going, "silently," Malfoy pursed his lips and was about to attempt to cast a final spell when she growled, "by a _mudblood_."

His wand rolled on the floor as he looked at her open mouthed. She just chuckled, looking at him with a pitying gaze and knocked him out with a light stunner to the head. It was at that very moment Lucius Malfoy decided that he was having a terrible day.

* * *

It had been _weeks,_ since the first, symbolic lesson that she had taught. Weeks, and every moment had been torture. She avoided Lily Evans like the plague. Whenever she saw the auburn hair she was deeply reminded of her red-haired friend and lover. The eyes forced no explanation.

As she slowly weaned herself off of Poppy's potions, her cheeks began to hollow out and she began to lose weight. Dark, bruised circles had appeared under her eyelids, often making it appear that she had an injured eye. Though Hermione had never worried about her weight, she had been drawn in, a few times, to the Hospital Wing. There, the Matron promptly force fed nutrient potions down her throat.

Hermione's pale skin contributed greatly to her sickly appearance and thought she didn't want to admit it, it was clear that the students were starting to take notice.

The pallid sheen wasn't helped by her obvious distaste for the sun, but surprisingly, her reflexes had improved. She had become even more wary than she had been before, something she would have deemed impossible a mere week ago.

The one thing that had plagued her for many a night were the nightmares. The terrible dreams that would flit in and out of her consciousness, teasing her as they paraded her slaughtered friends before her face.

Throughout the day, throughout the classes, she couldn't see anything else. The shattered spines of Ginny and Neville, Luna's deeply slit throat, and the broken, tortured soul of Ron. And finally, Harry's lifeless body, chained to the wall, the words 'The Boy Who Lived' carved into his forehead.

Nonetheless, she made do. She taught to the best of her ability, not allowing the faces that haunted her past be a detriment her students' futures. So she slipped into her routine, a defence mechanism she had developed as a mere child.

Hermione ignored everybody else, and immersed herself into her studies.

After her first class the rumors had spread quickly. Needless to say, she hadn't had any more challenges for the rest of the month. The Ravenclaws had even seemed impressed by her knowledge and hands-on tips on how to defeat Grindylows.

Hermione had slowly adapted to her role as a teacher, perhaps a ragged teacher, but a good one nonetheless. She had shown the students different magical creatures so far but hadn't yet progressed to actual dueling other wizards.

She would have to think about how to plan that lesson. She sucked thoughtfully on the edge of her feather - only to realize it was not, in fact, a sugar quill. She sighed, shaking her head confusedly and cast a small drying charm at it.

She stretched and gathered her bags, finally satisfied that she was done for the day. While she had assigned quite a bit of homework, she was sure that if the students completed the work correctly they would learn things that they hadn't previously known.

It was a small victory as a teacher.

Tiredly, Hermione finally entered her quarters. She was repeatedly impressed by the lavish bed and curtains. It was much larger she was used to and decorated with extravagant red and gold. Hermione sighed, and though she knew she would get no response, she murmured a quick thanks to the castle.

After brushing her teeth, stripping of her ordinary clothes and slipping into the comfortable cotton pyjamas Minerva had supplied, Hermione finally managed to relax, slipping into her own bed. Thought it wasn't yet nightfall, Hermione allowed herself to relax that afternoon, deciding to sleep early and plan her lessons in the morning.

Though that was what she normally preferred, sometimes she didn't have the leisure for such a lucid schedule. It was days like this in which she spent so that she could wake up early in the morning and start planning for her classes.

She had just asked a house elf, Missy, to bring her a mug of warm milk and several marshmallows when she heard a small tap at the door. She looked downwards to check that she was fully clothed and then called,

"Who is it?" There was no response at first, but then a more fervent knocking and a yell.

"It's James Potter, Professor!" The voice was panicked but she wasn't yet convinced. Hermione moaned in quiet frustration, and approached the portrait with great caution. As close as she could go, she lowered her voice just enough for the painting to hear her.

"I solemnly swear," she murmured, regretting her decision of the password, especially with James Potter so close to the door. Slowly, the small girl guarding the dorm huffed and allowed the door to swing open.

"Can you say it louder next time?" she demanded. "I have magic, not super sonic senses." Hermione tiredly apologized, not wanting to offend the guardian of her rooms. She had the impeccable sense that the portrait could lock her out of she wanted to.

She took a few steps outside, and was pleasantly surprised by the absolute silence that greeted her rather than the expected obnoxious announcement.

"Mr. Potter," she said calmly. He was standing at the base of the door, but instead of looking worried as she had anticipated, his triumphant smirk illuminated the corridor. Hermione only had a second to prepare herself before a large bucket of green substance was thrown on her head.

Her hair seemed to stand on end and it took a moment for her to realize that it had swelled to the size of a balloon, a few strands depicting the message, 'Welcome to Hogwarts!'. The vein in her neck throbbed, and it took a moment to realize that it was in weary amusement rather than anger.

Hermione was a girl who prided herself on her reflexes, so it was not often that something caught her off guard. She was slightly impressed, but simultaneously extremely disappointed.

There was a moment of deadly silence as Hermione, looked at James, holding back her wry smile. James Potter, clearly not expecting the reaction that she had given, was looking rather bewildered.

"No detention?" He asked, still looking confused. Hermione shook her head, pursing her lips as she finally gave in to her deranged laughter. She slammed her hand against the wooden frame of the door, not even wincing as it made contact.

"Oh, no Mister Potter," she chuckled, "you have detention all right." He finally looked satisfied, if still a little stunned. Hermione just snorted, in a most unladylike manner, ignoring the shocked gaze of James as he watched the normally composed Professor break into an exhausted, perhaps slightly delirious, chortle.

They forgot, after all, that she was only nineteen.

"Messrs. Black, Lupin," she called immediately, noticing the spot of air that somehow rippled and froze. "Come out of the cloak now before I report you to Minerva." That seemed to do it, for they sheepishly shed the veil of invisibility.

"How - how…" Sirius seemed as befuddled as Remus.

"How did you know?" Remus finished, looking at her in undisguised amazement. "Never, not even _Dumbledore_ ," he shook his head, resting his hand on his head as if trying to decipher a particularly difficult math problem. Hermione just spread her hands in an exaggerated motion.

"Magic," she deadpanned. Sirius rolled his eyes and tried not to stutter in absolute indignation but he didn't truly feel offended. In fact, what he felt was mostly concern. Despite most occurrences, the de facto Sirius Black was not at all incompetent. He noticed the dark circles under the Professor's eyes and couldn't help but feel a flicker of worry.

"That's not possible," he said finally, drawing his eyes away from her gaunt face. "You can't just _know._ " Hermione smiled, a special smile that she reserved only for Harry and Ron. Her eyes suddenly watered slightly as she tried not to let her emotions go. She had been doing so well, but _Harry_. James for that matter; the resemblance was uncanny.

And she simply couldn't bear to look at Lily, the combination of red hair and green eyes - the embodiment of her best friends was just too hard to bear.

"My fr… _brothers_ ," she said rather stiffly. "My friend Harry had a cloak almost identical to yours. Believe it or not, I was a rather mischievous child and got in more trouble than the four of you put together." The three exchanged slightly wary glances.

"Four of us?" Remus said, an eyebrow raised. Hermione tried to scoff at him, but it came out more as a hacking cough. How stupid did Remus think she was? She pointed to his pocket without hesitation, his illusion of her ignorance deeply offending her.

Her fists trembled slightly, a sudden rage boiling inside of her as she picked out the traitorous rat.

"You don't know how many times I've had to remind this generation," Hermione growled, her sudden irritation confusing to even her, "but I am not an absolute imbecile. Pettigrew, get out of Mr. Black's pants and transform, will you?"

There was a second of silence as the Marauders gaped and Hermione winced.

"I'm sorry." Despite the situation, she couldn't even manage a smile. "I didn't realize howwrong that sounded." Then Sirius snickered, and James joined in. Remus gave a reluctant chuckle but Hermione just sighed down at them. Slowly, Peter scampered out of Sirius's pocket and transformed, growing into an disgustingly average teenage boy.

Hermione didn't want to think about the calm she currently projected. If Peter Pettigrew embodied normalcy she wasn't sure what the other Death Eaters appeared to be. At that thought, her heart began to race.

" _How_?" he spluttered, still looking completely horrified. It was as if, to him, seven years of secrets had been unraveled. Hermione fought the urge to kill him right there and then, almost dismissing the repercussions that it could cause to the timeline.

Sirius finally finished laughing, the barking sound ricocheting off of the walls and settling down the hall. James finished soon after, as did Remus. Peter still hadn't moved, his mouth open in a perfect 'o'.

"You know, teach," the older Black sibling said, "I think you're the first defence Professor I've liked." Hermione raised her eyebrow and couldn't help but give a small, wry, grin. Remus smiled back but the genuine expression faded off of her face just as soon as it had appeared.

"You know, _Marauders_ ," she said softly, trying to distract them from her emotional turmoil, "you're the first students I've been disappointed in this year." James looked at her challengingly, and Hermione couldn't help but let out a choked sob. He was so like Harry, he couldn't even imagine.

He took a cautious step back and Hermione composed herself quickly, plastering a smile on her face. She couldn't help the crystallized tears that formed in the corners of her eyes.

"For all the so called 'Marauders' infamous reputation," she said, trying to smile but failing, "I expected a _much_ better prank than the trash you just pulled."

There was another short silence.

" _What_?" Remus Lupin yelped, looking at James and Sirius in panic. The two in question were exchanging devious glances that almost made Hermione regret her words. Her heart was pounding rapidly, the loud noise bringing a sudden fragility that she hadn't felt since Bellatrix's dungeon.

"You heard me," she said bravely, her hands trembling slightly, but channeling her Gryffindor roots perfectly. She shoved her fists into her robes and clenched the soft cotton material.

"That was pathetic." Hermione crossed her arms, two orbs of chocolate definitely glaring. A flurry of anger rose in her and she glowered down at them.

The boys were echoes of her past; something that shouldn't have an impact on her now meaningless future. James just snorted, looking at her up and down.

"You're what, 25?" he retorted, "We've been pranking like this for years. What have _you_ done?" His eyes were raised, his body language still playful. He had no idea that Hermione would take it so incredibly personally.

A wave of rage slammed into her. She fought the urge to hit something, preferably the idiot human standing in front of her. She was a hurricane of emotions, disbelief etched into every weary line in her face. Though they weren't from the future, that no magicals alive would doubt _Hermione Granger_ of all people.

Hermione Granger, Killer of Rudolphus Lestrange, Avenger of Luna Lovegood, Slayer of Lucius Malfoy, and most importantly... Sole Survivor of the Hogwarts Massacre.

Hermione almost cawed with hysterical laughter, her arms spasming wildly as she attempted to explain how wrong they were with basic, trembling, hand motions. She distributed the abnormal behavior to lack of sleep rather than any real logical explanation.

"I defeated a three headed dog in my _first year_ ," she spat, ignoring the disbelieving looks from the four Gryffindors, "Petrified by a basilisk in my second, and helped an innocent convict break out of jail in my third."

Remus looked as if he was about to interrupt, but Hermione wasn't stopping now. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her hands clawing desperately at the invisible scars on her arms. Tears were welling in her eyes and she didn't even try to stop them from rolling down her face.

The boys all looked shocked at the sudden change in her attitude, still oblivious to the buildup that been happening over the course of that month.

"I helped a friend fight a _dragon_ ," she said, her voice deadly fierce. "And was attacked by Death Eaters in my fifth." Remus's face were now subdued, studying her expression as he, along with the others, finally realized that it wasn't a joke.

Her eyes were bright red and bloodshot, her hair a mess, and if she had been in her right state of mind she would have deducted that she looked far more insane than Voldemort himself.

"I watched my headmaster die in sixth, I fought fucking _Voldemort_ in my seventh, in my eighth I was captured and in my ninth..." Hermione finally sobbed, weeks and weeks of pent up frustration and anguish finally exploding into an episode of grief.

She had never needed to conceal her thoughts, her pain, in torture. She could scream, she could plead, she could hate, she could rant.

"In my eighth I lost my friends and family." She finally sank to the floor, an emotional mess. The days had been even more draining than she had anticipated. The cold exterior had finally broken, cracked, rather, and with it any shard of her sanity still left.

Her voice cracked again. "I lost my entire world."

There was a stunned silence.

Nobody moved as they held a small, respectful period of grieving. Hermione hid her face in her arms as she drew her knees up to her head, simply letting it go and crying.

Then, something that nobody expected occurred. Sirius Black wrapped his arms around her shaking form. In another second Remus had joined them and it only took a heartbeat for James to join in. Hermione burrowed her head into the mass of warmth, finally relinquishing her control for the first time in years.

It had always been that Hermione had to rescue, to save, it hadn't crossed her mind as a possibility that _she_ could be protected. She had spent so long in the mindset that thinking of of anything else seemed like a solar system out of her reach.

And so the Marauders sat, offering what emotional support they could give to the scarred young Professor that had fallen from the sky.

* * *

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 **Your Dedicated Author,**

 **Kathie**


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione kept her head low, eyes downcast as she walked. The tiles made a loud clicking sound and she silently wished she'd worn quieter shoes. It felt as if every head in the Great Hall was turning to look at her, but she ignored them.

When she'd finally reached her seat, she quickly folded her legs and stared down at her plate, discreetly asking for some scrambled eggs and a few sausages.

When the food blossomed on her plate, it felt as if a large block on her chest had vanished. Her lungs filled with oxygen and she started to eat with a tiny, satisfied smile on her face. It was the first time she hadn't felt like vomiting after tasting the rich food.

She glanced tentatively at the Marauders only to find them staring shamelessly back. She made an expression, the first _real_ grin she had given them, and they returned it tenfold. She sighed in contentment.

Perhaps they weren't Ron and Harry, but it looked as if she had found some friends after all.

* * *

"Miss McKinnon?" Hermione called, her hand pointed at the tall blonde near the front of the class. She barely looked up from her clipboard, grasping it in a tightly controlled fist. Her heavily lidded eyes were scanning the student's list, checking and rechecking that all her students were present.

The students were standing in a line, and she, as professor, was half-heartedly shooting colored lights at them. It wasn't until she looked up that she realized that they were Avada Kedavra green. She winced, now understanding the tiny bit of reluctance that had been drifting from several students.

"Professor," Marlene said solemnly, "Why are we wasting our time with this redundant exercise?" Hermione immediately scowled. Despite understanding that it was a valid question, she couldn't help but grimace at her pretentious expression.

"Miss McKinnon," Hermione said, an irritated look marring her normally androgynous features. Her face lost what little trace of humor it contained. "You question my instruction as if I am a student - it isn't wise of you to forget that I am a professor."

Marlene didn't look the least bit abashed and it was only that Hermione had remembered that the McKinnons had been in the Order that she didn't start channeling Severus Snape. She had to remind her several times not to tear her into several pieces and send her, emotionally scarred, to Madam Pomfrey.

"Nonetheless," she continued, bitterness that only her friends would recognize hidden in her voice. "I am not here to coddle my students, nor lie to them. And so I will tell you the truth." Her face was grave, and the other students seemed to recognize that.

Clearly thinking of the progressing war, many of their expressions darkened. Several hands were raised, but quickly lowered themselves as other students glared at them. Several braced themselves, however, even they weren't expecting the sentence was messily strewn from her mouth.

"The thing about defence is that it can so easily be channeled into offence. I am here to help you defend yourselves. I am here to teach you how to fight. And most importantly, I am here to help you learn how to kill." There was a small gasp as most of class blanched. There was a silence that seemed to envelop the room.

"Kill?" Squeaked a Ravenclaw boy directly in her line of sight. She fixed him with a piercing gaze and nodded slowly, watching with muted interest as he paled. His eyes dilated in what was considered by most terror, but Hermione could tell. It was cunning calculation. It seemed that there were more Slytherins in Ravenclaw then there were in the Snake's den itself.

"We are entering a war," she said, the biting edge to her voice disintegrating as it faded into a fierce whisper. "Those who think people like me have _stolen_ magic, and those who accept us muggleborns with open arms."

She held her steely gaze, sweeping around the classroom. "I am here to teach you, Death Eater or not..." she locked eyes with a student, Stephens, that she had known from the future. His eyes hardened as he came to the same conclusion as she.

"To _defend_ yourselves," she sneered with all the anger she could summon. She drew her eyes away from Voldemort's servant. She waved her hands, sending several stunners and shattering a flower vase that stood delicately on her desk.

"I could do that to a Death Eater," she said fiercely. "I could sling him by his entrails and drag him around the Hogwarts halls." There were several horrified expressions exchanged at this statement, but Hermione ignored them.

"But I won't, though Merlin they deserve it," Hermione growled. "They are puppets, little pawns that dance on the filthy, manipulative string that is Voldemort." There was a silence so deep that Hermione could light up fireworks in front of their very eyes and they wouldn't respond.

"Miss Mckinnon," she said, finally addressing the girl she originally ignored.

"I am, what these maniacs call, a mudblood." Hermione saw several fists clench at the word. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the reaction. "Now explain to me how most people lose a duel - and in some cases, their lives."

Marlene straightened, her voice arrogant with certainty. "They didn't cast _Protego_ fast enough and got hit by a spell."

There was just a split second of silence in which Hermione took to glare scathingly at the class.

"Wrong!" Hermione barked, her hands on her hips. "They lost the duel because they _did not move_." She had to resist rolling her eyes at the stupidity of the wizarding children. The rest of the class seemed slightly perplexed at this statement, as if unable to comprehend how such a simple thing could save lives.

"They, in all their foolishness, failed to move their bodies like so." She flicked her wrist and sent a bright green light into Marlene's chest.

Hermione smiled wryly, anger pulsing in every vein in her body. "You're dead, Miss McKinnon."

Marlene elicited an outraged gasp, the furious Ravenclaw grabbing her bag and storming out of the classroom. The door shut with a loud snap, the hinges darkening in response to her accidental magic.

"Would anybody else like to leave?" Hermione said calmly. Nobody moved, though some of them shifted slightly closer to the exit, looking at her rather uneasily.

Then, to her immense surprise, the door burst open again. The earsplitting shriek was enough to gather the classes' attention as well as the frenzied pounding that commenced.

"Miss McKinnon," she said, only to trail off as she realized that Marlene hadn't swallowed her pride enough to apologize. Illuminated by the light, dark hair flew wildly around her face as the student stormed into the classroom.

"Miss Black," Hermione corrected, looking steadily at Bellatrix. "I have had two interruptions already in my class." She met her vivid violet eyes with certainty, stilling her trembling fists. "This had better be quick."

"Pro - professor!" The witch babbled, almost inconsolable as tears streamed down her face. Hermione didn't move from her spot, staring coldly at the murderer that had taken half of her family.

"Yes, Miss Black?" She asked icily. Bellatrix approached her, sobbing, and Hermione couldn't help but allow a sliver of pity to emerge through her mask. She gently lead Bellatrix to a chair and sat her down, not needing to remind herself that this was not a killer - not yet.

"My - my Cissy," she managed, shaking, her ivory face made pallid with terror. Hermione gathered her into her arms, something her mother used to do with her.

"Your sister," Hermione garnered, mistaking her words slightly. Bellatrix started sobbing again, burying her face into her arms.

"No!" Bellatrix stuttered, looking as if she would pass out. "The Dark Lord! He took - he took Cissy!" Hermione had finally managed to garner something from her mad scrambling.

"Cissy? Narcissa Black, the first year?" If Bellatrix's erratic nodding was any indication, she had been correct. Hermione steadied her hands and shook her, finally coming to a stop as her head spun.

"Bellatrix," she said sternly. "Why did you come to me? Dark Lord or not, Dumbledore would help you get your sister back." Her purple eyes looked terrified, but she seemed steel herself.

"I..." Bellatrix looked so ashamed of herself that she brought her voice to a whisper. "The Dark Lord ordered me to kill you." Tears started to form in her eyes yet again and Hermione stopped herself from wringing her neck.

"I'm not a murderer," Bellatrix said, surprisingly convincingly. "I didn't know, didn't think that they would take it out on Cissy. I didn't _know_!" Her last word was a disheveled scream, causing what remained of the class not cover their ears.

"He - he told me to get you. He has Cissy," she gave another sob. "He has Cissy in Hogsmeade. He says that you must resign and face him or..." She couldn't continue.

"I know it's a trap," she continued, pleading with Hermione, "But it's your job to protect your students and if you don't then there's not a _force on earth_ that would prevent me from fighting him myself." Shudders wracked her body and Hermione pulled her to her feet.

"I need a wand," Hermione said darkly. Though she was proficient with wandless magic, she couldn't face the dark lord with that as her only defence.

"Here," Alice Prewett said, tossing Hermione her own. She smiled gently at Neville's mother, patting her on the cheek.

"You have my word it will be returned, Miss Prewett." The girl nodded gravely, her hazel eyes glinting with the beginnings of rage.

"Go tell Dumbledore where I are," Hermione bellowed. "Class dismissed!" However, Alice still didn't move, staring directly into Hermione's eyes. Green met brown and a quiet grief overwhelmed her.

"He killed my grandpa," she whimpered, arms clenched. "Please - give him hell, Professor." There wasn't a second that went by and an unspoken understanding passed between them.

Then Hermione nodded curtly and Alice fled, undoubtedly to tell the Headmaster. Hermione closed her eyes, praying that it would work.

"Fawkes!" She begged, "A student needs your help." There was a pause and she thought that the bird hadn't answered. Then there was a small ember of flame that started to glow, expanding in all directions until the phoenix reared it's head and soared out of the classroom's fireplace.

"Thank you Fawkes," she said, relieved beyond belief. "Bellatrix, stay here until I bring her back." But the slender witch struggled to her feet and stood, if albeit shakily.

"No," she snarled. "I'm coming. When I said I'd fight him, I fucking meant it Professor." Hermione bit her lip, before finally offering her arm.

Fawkes shot her a dubious look, but Hermione rolled her eyes. "She isn't evil, Fawkes." _Yet._ Hermione turned to her right as they were flamed away.

"Pretend I fell for your trap," her voice was an echo as they disintegrated into space, and she could only pray that Bellatrix had heard her. "Then take your sister and disapparate to Sirius's…" Hermione got the impression she wouldn't like that. "Regulus's house."

The tightening of Bellatrix's arm signaled that she had heard her, and Hermione smiled, feeling the powerful magic that surged through her veins. Though the wand wasn't a perfect fit, it was extremely close, and she enjoyed the small euphoria that only lasted for a second.

The landscape swirled: colorful ink in water, and she could see nothing but fire. Then a picture started to form thought the flames. She saw the snow tipped houses of Hogsmeade, the flowerpots that lined Ms. Puddifoot's, and the small trinkets that were placed outside of Zonkos. And then she noticed how the pebbles were slick with blood and dark figures gathered around a single shadow.

She already had her wand in hand when she landed.

"Miss Black, where are we?" Hermione lied, injecting a note of panic into her voice. Hermione whipped her wand around in unprepared acting.

There was a sudden silence as the occupants of Hogsmeade seemed to realize that there was a new player in the game. Bellatrix unsteadily started to walk forward, her shoes the only thing that penetrated the deafening quiet. She forced her spine to bend and finally bowed at the terrible monster's toes.

"My Lord," she said as certainly as she could. "I have brought you the mudblood. Please..." her voice cracked slightly, "May I have my sister back as a reward for my obedience?" There was another silence and Voldemort finally reached behind him, into the circle and threw a little girl on the ground.

She was splayed on all fours, a few joints looking as if they were broken. Her blonde hair was stained with red and her exhausted eyes were bloodshot from crying. Bellatrix staggered to her knees and rushed to her unconscious sister.

"It was a shame pure blood had to be spilt," Voldemort said in a cold, high pitched voice. Before Bellatrix could retort, her eyes burning with undiluted rage, Hermione sent her an angry gust of Legilimency into her mindscape with four simple words.

 _Think of your sister._

Bellatrix seemed to swallow her disgust and slowly dropped her head to kiss his robes. "Thank you," she choked out, "My Lord." His ruby eyes glinted with terrible amusement and he kicked her face away, leaving indents and scratches.

Bellatrix flinched away, gathering her sister in her arms as she prepared to disapparate. However, Hermione had already sensed the wards and knew she would not succeed. She had to distract him, before he realized her true intentions.

"Bellatrix," she called, drawing the Dark Lord's attention to her. "It is no use. He set up the wards." Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but Hermione called Fawkes to her and he appeared on her shoulder immediately.

"Dumbledore's pheonix?" He asked, looking slightly surprised for the first time. "A mudblood can call Dumbledore's phoenix?" Voldemort seemed impassive at her lack of reaction to the word. He leveled his wand at her and Hermione rolled lightly as the jet of emerald imbedded itself in the wall behind her.

"Take the sisters Black to Dumbledore's office," she whispered to Fawkes, looking over at Bellatrix, who was trying to shield herself from the rubble. Against Hermione's orders she started to fight, sending killing curses over her sister's body as she tried to protect her.

However, Voldemort still was as clever in this world as he was in the last one. He followed Hermione's gaze to the middle Black sister, who had already killed several of his followers. He seemed to honestly be aghast, as if he expected her to stand by as her sister was terrorized.

There was a terrible silence as they glared at one another, Bellatrix's eyes smoldering with an unspeakable rage. She raised her wand, but though she was a talented dueller she was no match for Voldemort.

"Avada Kedavra!" He snarled.

"Bombarda Maxima!" Hermione hissed in unison, the spell's explosion yanking them back just in time. She, for the most part, was satisfied that no other Blacks were dressed in Death Eater regalia, ready to watch as their family was killed.

"Fawkes," she growled, "now!" He bowed his regal head, but they were too far away for her to join them. Bellatrix's look of horror was all the motivation she needed as she faced Voldemort. At least she knew that she had protected her students.

The Dark Lord roared in fury, his cloak billowing in rage. He fixed his blood red eyes on her, the killing curse barely leaving his lips. Hermione ducked, knowing that she had to keep his attention on her or risk harming the civilians that lived in Hogsmeade.

The screams of the innocents were the only thing that kept her from walking away from the fight then and there. She knew that she could break the anti- apparition ward, but it would take most of her energy and she wouldn't be able to protect them. And then… it would just be a massacre.

She fired her own Avada, smiling as it brushed straight past his face. He seemed to grow more enraged, ordering his followers to launch their own spells at him. Hermione swept under a crucio and dodged a vibrant purple spell that was no doubt deadly, firing off her own curses and killing several masked men.

"Secsumptra," she growled quietly, if only to prevent Snape's involvement. The spell diced a man, spearing his body in nausea inducing methods. Hermione didn't feel the slightest bit of disgust, even while Voldemort looked more and more intrigued.

"Na…" the Dark Lord hissed, and Hermione immediately recognized it as Parseltongue. "Go kill… find… Professor." What absolutely mystified her was that she could understand short verses of it, the language sounding more and more beautiful as it progressed.

She was snapped out of her hypnosis when she was forced to dance, throwing her head back to avoid a slicing curse aimed at her face. Not very original, she mused to herself, as she beheaded the Death Eater with his own curse.

It was several minutes before Hermione finally noticed the snake. It reared, preparing to bite her. Hermione spun around, recognizing the snake as it sank its venomous fangs into her ankle. Several Hogsmeade occupants screamed, and the Death Eaters were quick to target them.

"Protogo Maximus!" Hermione roared, the impenetrable shield appearing right as the glass windows shattered.

She took a deep inhale, calming herself.

Without further ado, she cast the fiendfyre curse, hastily disintegrating Nagini and then forcing it to bend to her will. In a second, there was a large inferno of flame that ended the lives of many of the Death Eaters. She carefully carved the fire so that it strayed from the buildings, forcing it into the terrified gazes of the servants.

Not feeling a shard of pity, she watched the Voldemort's minions fall into the ruby flames. Though she knew that she had just committed a heinous act, she had saved thousands of innocent lives.

"That's enough!" Voldemort finally bellowed, his face hollow with rage. His eyes glowed, the personification of death and famine.

He studied her, wand raised and robes billowing, and then snarled, "You are not a mudblood." However, his expression was shadowed with doubt and his posture was too frigid to be natural.

"Yes, Tom, I am," she responded smiling, even as blood dripped out of her mouth. "But what are you?" His face contorted at his name, and he proceeded to cast the cruciatus at her over and over. She dodged every time, leaping over several as she advanced on him.

"Life is a beautiful thing, Tom," she said fiercely. "Each and every life should be treasured. Those undeserving should not have the permission to take the lives of others." She was almost ten feet away now, Voldemort casting the killing curse repeatedly. She seemed to vanish every time he hit her, the green light shimmering and disappearing.

"Life is an enigma, Tom," she said again, her eyes black with disappointment. "Or should I say Riddle?" Her expression faded into a dark mischievous smile as Hermione disappeared, her appearance melting into the mist.

There was a deadly silence as everyone spun around, trying to find her. Then one of the Death Eaters behind Voldemort shifted, withdrawing their mask. Rosalie Lovett smiled, the silver crumbling in her hand.

"How?" Voldemort spat, looking slightly unnerved.

"Oh Tom," she said in mock disappointment, even while bleeding from several cuts on her face and a missing piece of her ear. "That was an apparition spell. A second year charm. Did poor Marvolo never learn to duplicate his body?"

Then she lunged, thrusting long, thin, dagger through his ribs. "I hope it hurts," she snarled, pushing him away as he gaped.

" _Morsmordre_ ," he managed, the words morphing into Parsel half-way through. With one last furious look at Hermione, he vanished, as did all of the surviving Death Eaters, the deceased corpses littering the ground.

Hermione felt dizzy and the world finally spun, the adrenaline eventually leaving her. She didn't know what the hell she'd been thinking – she knew that she was powerful but she never expected to be able to take on Voldemort. She couldn't even battle Bellatrix! Something about coming here must have enhanced her magic, perhaps doubling or even tripling it.

And then there was the flaw; that she had _understood_ Voldemort's Parseltongue.

She didn't quite understand, she had seen many of Professor Sprout's pets and they had never spoken to her. She hadn't even considered the outlandish idea until she had seen Voldemort. Then the voices of the witches and wizards in Hogsmeade were upon her, rushing to get a better glance of the girl that had fought the Dark Lord.

She started to wave them away, insist that she was quite alright and would like to get to Hogwarts, when a wave of nausea hit.

A pain slowly started to build, starting at her the roots of her hair and increasing, until all the agony was concentrated into a single spot on her forehead.

It only took a minute for Hermione to start screaming, the pain far more intense than the cruciatus. She flailed in excruciation, writhing in absolute agony as she sobbed. Her head was on fire, burning a slate into her skull while she cried. She felt as if she would rather be electrocuted then take another second of the pain.

She felt warm arms envelop her, usher the crowd away and start to carry her into the pub. It wasn't until she recognized the warm brown eyes of a youthful Rosmerta that she stopped fighting. A wave of exhaustion effulged her and she had no choice but to close her eyes and succumb to the darkness.

* * *

"Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore!" Albus was rather startled by the presence of what appeared to be an entire seventh year class frantically pounding on his door. He was pleased to see a Hufflepuff prefect among them, and asked the Griffin to kindly let Alice Prewett up.

"Professor!" She panted, looking as if she had run up to his office instead of waiting for the stairs to automatically levitate her. Minerva looked rather unimpressed that she had interrupted a house meeting as did Slughorn. However, Pomona looked at her distraught Hufflepuff with the unwavering loyalty that her house prided.

"Bellatrix's sister," she panted before anyone could speak. "Narcissa Black! She was captured by You-Know-Who!" Dumbledore shot to his feet, surprisingly lithe for an ancient wizard.

"The first year Slytherin?" Slughorn demanded, absolutely aghast. "The youngest daughter of Cygnus?" He looked as if he might pass out in horror.

Alice managed a mute nod, still gasping for breath. She may have been adorable, dreadfully reminiscent of Neville, but she was no athlete.

"Do you know where, Miss Prewett?" Dumbledore's voice was alight with power, and the four others in the room seemed immensely worried about the young first year. Slughorn, for once in his life, looked extremely grave.

"Yes, Sir," she said breathlessly. "She said it was Hogsmeade. Professor Rosett has already gone to help. She left almost twenty minutes ago! We couldn't get into the office and the gargoyle wouldn't let us in. I think she took Bellatrix with her, but I'm not sure." Alice took a deep breath and smoothed her rumpled uniform.

"That's all I know, sir," she said earnestly. Dumbledore nodded, patting her shoulder slightly even as he paced. His beard trailed all the way to his waist and was swinging as he wrung his hands distractedly.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Prewett," he said eventually, drawing the elder wand and striding to the front of his office. He quickly touched the doorknob and was assaulted by many other voices, all whom appeared to have been from Professor Lovett's class.

"Fawkes," he called, waiting a few seconds. The occupants of the office all expected the fiery bird to appear instantly and when it did not, Dumbledore deducted that he must be helping the Rosalie.

"Fawkes is with Professor Lovett," he said briskly. "Even I cannot apparate out of Hogwarts without damaging a section of the wards." He looked at them gravely. "With the war beginning that is simply not an option; I will _not_ have more students in danger. We can go on foot - as soon as we step outside of the wards we apparate."

He received three nods. "Minerva?"

"Of course Albus," She replied, the scottish woman fiercely replied, "You won't face Voldemort alone." She swept her long black cloak and started running, not bothering to wait for him. She knew, despite his age, that he would catch up.

"Horace, Pomona," he said gently, "I won't force you to go. I want you to secure the castle, check and recheck the wards and prepare for injured Hogsmeade occupants in the Hospital Wing." There were two firm nods.

"Filius," Albus said finally, turning to the half-goblin, "I don't just want you to check the wards, you need to strengthen them. Try to detect which students have taken the dark mark. I believe they can be saved, but it's a matter of how much they knew about this attack on Miss Black."

"Yes Albus," Professor Flitwick said, nodding slightly. "Remember to be careful."

He nodded once, before setting off at a swift pace through the castle. The tiles blurred and shifted, he took several passages that few knew about, appearing in front of a gargoyle in the Great Hall.

Minerva had a sheen of sweat on her face, small bits of perspiration in her hair.

"Albus!" she gasped as he appeared in front of her. "We have to hurry! And how the bloody hell did you - never mind!" She huffed in annoyance, throwing her shoes to the floor to help her run faster.

Finally, they reached the edge of the wards. Albus apperated first, expecting to find civilians cowering as Voldemort picked them off one by one. Instead, he found corpses on the ground. However, the thing that truly astounded him was that they appeared to be the bodies of Death Eaters rather than the Dark Lord's playthings.

He winced, staring at the bloody remnants of several of the masked men. He really needed to have a talk with Rosalie, or rather, Hermione, on how to handle opponents. He saw several parents still shielding their children's faces as they eyed the wreckage in terror.

Minerva appeared behind him, wand at the ready. When she saw the scene, she almost dropped her hand in amazement. Her pupils dilated in horror as she finally studied the wreckage. Minerva heaved, retching as she vomited.

There was a second of horrible quiet.

"What _happened_?" she murmured horsely.

* * *

Hermione groaned, her head throbbing furiously as she hacked.

"Here, doll," Rosmerta said gently, handing her a glass of water. With slight hesitation, Hermione brought the cup to her lips and drank, savoring the feel of the liquid rushing down her parched throat.

She leaned back into her pillow, sighing.

"Thank you, Rosmerta," Hermione said, not noticing her start in surprise. She shifted uneasily but didn't say a word, just nodding softly.

"Would you like another?" Hermione shook her head, murmuring ' _thank you_ ' over and over. She ran her fingers through her hair, onto her face, the small cuts on her cheeks, and the little square that had been taken out of her earlobe.

She shook her head softly, ignoring how the pounding on her brain increased tenfold. Finally, she covered her eyes with her fingertips, tracing them upward until she reached her forehead.

There she stopped.

An unfamiliar patch of skin was there, red and irritated. When she touched it, she almost arched her back in agony as the familiar excruciation overtook her.

"Agh!" She gasped; tracing it over and over though pain stabbed her every time. Because she had studied the scar before, she had run her knowing fingers over it, time and time again. She'd felt the scar a thousand times, absentminded, never realizing the burden that came with it.

She stood, her head spinning and tried to run.

"Lass!" Rosmerta snapped, blocking her exit. "Please lass, calm down! You're going to give yourself a seizure!" However, Hermione kept struggling against her firm arms, tears streaming out of her deadened eyes.

"Bathroom," she begged, her voice a mere croak. "I need the mirror. _Please_." It was a painful five seconds, but then Rosmerta reluctantly moved aside.

"Third door on your left," she murmured, lightly guiding Hermione in the right direction. Hermione barreled past her, straight into the room and wiped away the tears so that she could see it for herself.

Her hand slowly came to her mouth, shaking erratically as she finally sobbed. She resisted the urge to throw up, pursing her lips together as tightly as they could go. Instead, she shoved her fist inside her mouth and just screamed.

She screamed and screamed and screamed, uncaring of who heard her, uncaring of the consequences, uncaring of anything but the marring feature on her forehead.

Because the lightning bolt scar wasn't meant to be hers. And yet, there it rested.

"Oh Harry," she whispered, her robes soaked with tears. "What did you _do to me_?"

 **\- Linebreak -**

 **Hey guys! It's Kathie!**

 **I've been quite busy; there've been a few birthdays going on and horrible doctor's appointments. But, good news if you like this story – I'm going on a 7-hour road trip tomorrow. Needless to say you should expect a chapter pretty soon (;**

 **(Sorry that this one was a little late!)**

 **Thank you Loves,**

 **\- Kathie**


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione shook her head, trying to wring out the dizziness that had seemed to enjoy making a permanent residence. She blearily looked around, the setting gradually focusing, the points of the furniture slowly sharpening.

"Hello?" she asked tiredly, looking around at the familiar setting but unable to recognize the exact placement. There was a rustling in the corner and she spun around, her head spiraling out of control. Hermione moaned slightly, her wand firmly pointed at the intruder.

"Good morning, Miss Lovett," a kindly voice replied. "My name is Dorea." Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I am a part of the Order Dumbledore has established." Hermione's fingers still didn't move from her wand. She stubbornly refused to trust her, even as she dropped her own weapon and held her hands above her head.

"Prove it," she said resolutely, her head still throbbing. The woman took a small breath and raised her wand, the tip illuminated.

"I," she began, "Dorea Potter - " Hermione waved her hand to stop her from continuing, her throat catching slightly as she realized she was looking at Harry's grandmother.

"What is it?" Mrs. Potter asked, looking exceptionally mystified. Hermione just lowered the wand that she had previously levelled at the woman's face.

"Mr. Potter is one of my students," she said dismissively. "And I highly doubt his parents are Death Eaters." Mrs. Potter scoffed, shaking her head in what seemed to be indignation.

"Not to be contradictory, Miss. Lovett, but it is not right to discriminate by name. I was born Dorea Black and sorted into Slytherin, though my past seems to be forgotten by most as soon as I took the name Potter."

Hermione studied her impassively. "Of course not, Mrs. Potter," she conceded, "Yet I would have killed you if you'd shown any mal intent towards me. Seeing as you are not dead, I believe my explanation is valid."

Dorea frowned at her. "That's not what I - "

"Of course it's not," Hermione cut her off. "But I don't discriminate by house or by name. Both Sirius and Regulus Black have equal standing in my eyes." There was a pregnant pause. "It is rude to suggest I discriminate by house and name, when I had absolutely no intention of doing either. Is it not, Ms. Potter?"

There was a small silence, and then Mrs. Potter's face broke out the smallest smirk Hermione had ever seen. "You were a Slytherin, weren't you, Ms. Lovett?"

Hermione smiled in return, her voice heavily laden with sarcasm. "Of course not." She giggled slightly. "I didn't go to Hogwarts."

Mrs. Potter nodded. "I'm glad you haven't completely ruled out Regulus for redemption. He is Sirius's brother after all..." she trailed off, a thoughtful expression taking hold on her face.

"Of course, Mrs. Potter," Hermione said instinctively. She scowled slightly at the maternal instinct that had unintentionally affected her. Her parents had been killed at the hands of Voldemort and it would be dishonoring them to show such affection to others.

"I expect you're wondering where you are by now," Mrs. Potter murmured, smoothing out her unkempt hair.

"Yes," Hermione said instantly. "If Dumbledore isn't here in the next 15 minutes, I will assume I've been kidnapped and act directly."

Mrs. Potter proceeded to glare at her. "That is enough Slytherin from you," she chided. "This, as you know, is Potter Manor."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, absolutely unfazed. "As I know?" she quoted, the light of suspicion reigniting in her chest.

Mrs. Potter looked at her, unamused. "As you know," she repeated, her eyes suddenly icy. "Why have you been here before? I don't recall anybody giving you permission to cross Potter wards - not even my trusting son."

Hermione stiffened, the implication of a dual hanging over her. "That is ludicrous."

"You are a _terrible_ liar, Miss Lovett." Her arms were crossed, her motherly demeanor dissipating before her very eyes.

As her aura flared, Hermione braced herself for an attack and responded in kind. She lunged towards her, irises glowing with restrained fear. Immediately, she was pulled back by magical bounds. She glanced, one arm at a time at the silvery restraints that resembled a patronus.

"How _dare_ you!" She spat, writhing as she fought to escape the molten wires.

Mrs. Potter just glowered at her fiercely. "How dare I _what_? How dare I, Lady of this horse, place bindings on you to prevent you from attacking a Potter in our own home? How dare _I_?"

Hermione glared at her, snarling, but Mrs. Potter bared her teeth, grabbing her shoulders and met her gaze squarely.

"Who the bloody hell are you, _Professor,_ " she sneered, "And why the _fuck_ does my House owe and an ancestral binding to _you_?" The fight slipped out of her, her clammy hands grasping the sheets as she struggled not to show her absolute terror.

Harry had done it then - he'd really done it.

"Lovett!" Mrs. Potter growled, clenching her collar so hard she feared it would break. " _Answer me_!"

Hermione thrust her away from her, head in her hands as she struggled not to cry. Trembling, she felt the jagged flesh under her left eyebrow. It was still there.

 _Oh gods._

Hermione couldn't help it, the gasp burst out of her before she could contain it. She put her hand on her mouth and forced herself not to retch.

"Speak up, Lovett," Mrs. Potter barked, perhaps a little bit gentler than before.

"I need to see Dumbledore," she mumbled, her voice muffled by her arms. Dorea studied her for a second, the glow of her hazel eyes illuminating the room.

Finally, she gave a stiff nod. "I will floo him," she said calmly. "But don't expect anything else." Hermione managed to bow her head in acceptance. Once the older woman had left the room, Hermione couldn't help but let the soundless tears drip out of her eyes.

 _Harry_ , she inwardly screamed. _I_ hate _you._

* * *

"Harry transferred his curse to you? The prophecy?" Dumbledore demanded, the old wizard pacing with a sort of concentrated rage.

"Yes," Hermione managed. Her fingers traced repetitively over the lightning bolt scar that now resided on her own forehead. "He did a dark ritual." She barely managed to get the words out. "One that we researched _together,_ in fact."

"If I'd had any idea he was going to use it on _me_..." she choked bitterly. "Neville would have volunteered, we both knew that much." Dumbledore looked at her pityingly, his footsteps slowing as he finally turned to look at her.

"Sometimes things are not how they seem, Rosalie. Time has a way of sorting itself out." Hermione glowered at him with such coldness that she was surprised he didn't flinch.

"The Fate Transfer," he said solemnly. "And you know what is required?" A surprising hatred was emitted from her, something she never thought she would feel concerning her brother in arms.

"He killed himself," she said icily. "He was a selfish bastard and transferred his pain and sorrow to one of his best friends rather than take it himself." She bit her lip, her eyes welling up. "He's a _coward_."

Dumbledore pursed his lips, his eyes dimming as his mind whirled.

"Perhaps."

Hermione just sighed, knowing that she wasn't going to receive anymore clear answers from the old man that night.

"I should go, Pro - Albus," she hastily corrected, her mind still slightly jumbled as her fury surged once more.

"I bid you a good night." Without hesitation, she apparated, leaving the furious screech of the Potter Monarch as she felt Hermione break through the advanced blood wards.

She stumbled from one ancestral home to another, popping immediately into the Grimmauld House of Black. She grasped an umbrella stand, the struggle of breaking through the Black safeguards only intensifying her nausea.

"Mistress!" she heard the high pitched shrill of a younger Kreacher. "Mudblood! Mudblood Professor! Blood-Traitor talks about it, Missus! Blood Traitor!"

Hermione sighed, waiting for the urge to vomit to decrease, and then propped herself up. Sirius had come running down the stairs, looking at her in some sort of shock as he gently lifted her elbow to help her stand up straight.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded. "Um… Professor, Miss."

Hermione waved her hand away, "I give you permission. I'm Rosalie in private, okay? Do you mind if I call you Sirius?" His face darkened and her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the room. He had exactly the same air about him that Sirius himself held.

"I'm afraid not, Professor." His voice comparatively more distant. Despite that, there was something akin to hurt in the olive of his eyes. Hermione studied him with something akin to contemplation and then remembered her words with Dorea. As slippery as that conniving woman was, she was right.

"I'm sorry Mr. Black," she apologized. "I was unaware which one of you I was speaking to." She took a small breath, reminding herself over and over of Harry's godfather, "May I call you Regulas outside of classes?"

He cocked his head ever so slightly, watching her with a mist of confusion. "Are you not a mud… muggleborn?" By that point, Walburga had descended down the stairs, her eyes already alight with madness.

"Mudblood!" She screeched, many portraits wincing and covering their already shattered ears. "MUDBLOOD! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Hermione just stood her ground, not even noticing when Regulus took an instinctive step in front of her to shoot a pacifying look at the screaming woman.

"Mother..." he hissed, "the Dark Lord..."

Hermione's stomach tightened, but her mouth instinctively opened. "I am here to withdraw a life debt from the youngest Black Sisters."

Regulus's fingers lingered a touch too long over his dark mark for her comfort, and Walburga's burning look was doing her no favors. However, Hermione recognized the doubt and reluctance that shadowed his face and honestly believed that he wouldn't do it.

Then Regulus composed himself; "I believe that the House of Black comes before my duties to the Dark Lord." Walburga looked rather aghast, staring at him in disbelief.

"Regulus," she said oddly, her voice sounding slightly strained, "you know what will happen once the Dark Lord finds out that we housed the mudblood Professor."

Regulus just shook his head. "And you know what will happen if Bella and Cissy fail to complete the life debt." He fixed her with a calm expression, though the animagus in Hermione sensed his heart pounding furiously.

It was a ploy worthy of a Gryffindor.

"They will die," Hermione interrupted, knowing that it would simply diminish. Their heads spun to her, Walburga's glare intensifying as she poured her hatred into that moment. "My daughter will avenge me, and when the favor falls to her, she will order them to kill themselves."

"And," she said, her growing steadily more confident as she expanded her lie, "she, who inherited twice my magical prowess, will come after you." The woman's certainty faltered for a mere second, but Hermione struck on. "Nonetheless, I doubt you two will live that long."

Even Regulus looked unsure, suddenly calculating what age she was inside his head. "Voldemort will not be pleased that you killed not only two purebloods but that they were betrothed to his most trusted lieutenants."

Regulus masked his surprise with hardened interest, leaning in threateningly as his hand loomed over his forearm.

"How," he managed, "did you know about that?"

Hermione just smiled wryly. This, unfortunately, infuriated Walburga, who lunged at her and grabbed her by the throat. She couldn't breathe, choking slightly as she fought to pry her grotesque fingers apart with wandless magic. Black spots littered the edges of her vision and she struggled to suck in the little oxygen that she could.

" _Professor_?" Came a horrified voice to the side, "Aunt Walburga! _Stop_! Stop this _immediately_!" The first year stomped her foot childishly, but it seemed to do the trick. With a frustrated sigh, she released Hermione who was quickly urged to her feet by a stone-faced Regulus.

"Professor," Narcissa Black said, eyeing her with something similar to reverence. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she rasped, before breaking into another fit of coughs. Narcissa glowered at her aunt with a surprising amount of anger.

"My father will hear about this," she snarled, "and as head of the House of Black, he _will_ retaliate." Hermione couldn't help but break into hoarse, nostalgic, giggles as she recalled a blonde haired ferret say something remarkably similar.

Narcissa turned to her, pursing her lips and suddenly looking very mature. "Thank you Professor," she said sincerely. "You saved my life." And with that final statement, she grasped Hermione's hand in a way only a child could do and started to drag her up the stairs.

Hermione managed to nod hastily to the two, looking rather put out as she was lead away by an eleven year old. They plodded on for what felt like hours, the ringing in Hermione's head slowly fading to a low buzz. Without hesitation, Narcissa guided her through large windy staircases and questionable looking rooms until they arrived to a large ivory door, the hinges hissing with small, authentic snakes.

"I am a muggleborn Gryffindor," she said clearly. With clear resentment, the silvery animals retreated, forked tongues flickering menacingly.

Hermione's mouth was agape, "Why - "

"Exactly," Bellatrix's clear voice rang through the room. "It's the one password that nobody would guess."

She stopped to think about it for a second. Hermione dipped her head in acknowledgement as she gradually recognized the truth in the statement.

"Well played, Miss Black." There was a pungent moment of hesitation. "As your Professor I am impressed."

She managed to nod, still wincing from a cut on her throat. Hermione flicked her wrist at the wound, frowning when it didn't close.

"Cursed knife, Professor," Bellatrix said tiredly. "It nicked me. It's been bleeding for hours." Rather than attempting to heal it again, Hermione conjured some sterile bandages and a vial of pain relief potion from the private stores she had gathered from the Slytherin Common Room.

She wrapped the fluffy gauze around her neck, ignoring Bellatrix's muffled squeaks as it brushed her open flesh. Hermione then cast a mild warming charm, giving her a small bar of chocolate from the inside of her cloak.

"To get that rubbish down," she briefly explained, handing her the pain relief potion. Bellatrix raised a regal eyebrow in response, motioning to the Slytherin crest clearly imprinted on the cork.

"Do I want to know?" she murmured, more to herself than Hermione.

"Not really," the Professor answered, her face not moving a bit. Now that the danger was over, it was extremely difficult to see them as young teenagers rather than two of the most formidable witches in Voldemort's ranks.

"Fantastic," Bellatrix muttered, shuddering as she shoved the bar into her mouth to dispel the lingering aftertaste.

Narcissa, for the first time in a while, spoke up. "What is the cloud you fastened around her neck?" Her hands were modestly interlaced, looking up at her with such perfect innocence that it was flawed. Absolutely fake.

Bellatrix scoffed, "Don't even try it Cissa, she's the most intelligent of the idiots that the Dark Lord has instruct us."

Hermione shot her a dirty look.

"...Thanks."

"You're welcome, Professor," Bellatrix answered calmly. "In response to your question, Cissa, this is a muggle healing cloud." She glared at the fluff disdainfully, half-heartedly pawing at it with her fingertips.

"Bandage," Hermione corrected, eyeing her in surprise. She looked at the youngest girl, who looked extremely disgusted. "Though I am very surprised you know it is muggle."

"Mudblood," Narcissa corrected instinctively. It took a second for her to realize what she had done wrong. She then put a hand to her mouth and truly looked rather mournful. "I'm sorry, force of habit."

"Apologizing is a good way to start," Hermione conceded, trying not to show the anger that she felt at their parents for forcing the word on them.

She wasn't aware of Bellatrix staring at her strangely.

"Professor," she said thoughtfully, "How do you know so much about cursed scars?" Hermione's eyes slowly lowered to the floor, unwilling to recount the thousands of hours Bellatrix had pinned her on the floor.

"Lucky guess," she said lowly, still unable to meet her vivid violet eyes. "End of story, Miss Black."

Eventually, Bellatrix managed to nod and tear her curious irises away from the fascinating Professor. "Yes, Professor Lovett."

Hermione managed a brisk nod. "Now. Why are you hiding from your family?" It was their turn to look at her in open-mouthed confusion.

"How did you know that?" "What makes you think _that_?"

Both girls blurted the sentences at the same times, the usual pureblood posture lost in a moment of utter weakness. They glanced at one another, the blush a red glow on their porcelain faces.

Bellatrix took a calming breath. "What have we said that gave any indication of such?"

Hermione just looked at them challengingly. "I am a _muggleborn Gryffindor_?" Her skepticism couldn't have risen higher.

"What kind of Slytherin would say that, even by accident? It almost sounds as if you are hoping for a genuine muggleborn Gryffindor to come waltzing down the halls and say that himself!"

"Well," Narcissa said weakly.

"And that's not all," Hermione sighed, "you managed to hear Kreacher screaming about me from the _other side_ of the _house_! And, coincidently, you managed to turn a forty minute walk into a ten minute sprint? That's just logically impossible."

"You're thinking like a muggle," Bellatrix said sternly and Hermione's chest deflated slightly as she realized that she was right. "We are witches, possessors of Magic and superior to muggles in every conceivable way."

Hermione had heard enough propaganda in a lifetime, this tidbit of prejudice didn't bother her.

"Fine then," Hermione said calmly. "I guess the magical world will go to war with the muggle one then." Both sisters looked surprised that she had given up so easily.

"Yes," Narcissa said, looking completely bewildered. "And we'll win."

Hermione just studied them. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes," Bellatrix answered for the both of them, nodding firmly. Her and Narcissa's arms were crossed stubbornly, taking on the expression that Ron often adopted when he was being selfish about a topic.

"You shouldn't be," Hermione said simply. Bellatrix looked as if she wanted to interrupt, but Hermione just glowered fiercely at her.

"An average muggle is defenceless against magic, true," Narcissa's red mouth curved into a malicious sneer, unfitting on her untarnished face. "But muggles, too, have governments."

Both girls were looking slightly interested now, their eyes a tad bit wary as they studied her. "And what would the Ministry do if Muggles threatened the extinction of their entire race?"

"They would allow the unforgivables," Bellatrix answered honestly. "The most dangerous weapons we have."

Hermione nodded at her, resisting the urge to give points to Slytherin. "But then, the muggles are being faced with the threat with extermination too, correct?"

"Yes..." Narcissa said uncertainly, "I don't think I like where you're going with this, Professor."

Hermione just smiled wryly. "Purebloods rarely do." She shook her head, dispelling echos of the taunts she had exchanged with Lucius Malfoy. Directly before she had dismembered his arm.

"The muggles, too, have an immensely powerful weapon." Bellatrix looked at her, unimpressed as she explained the hydraulics that powered a nuclear bomb. It had been a few minutes before she had finally given up explaining what 'science' was.

Eventually realizing her boring arithmetic sentences weren't making any sense, she finished it off with a single sentence.

"A single one of these weapons, which most governments own, would obliterate the British Magical community in three seconds flat." That got their attention.

Already pallid, Bellatrix had beads of sweat forming on the edges of her hairline. "What about wards?"

"Nothing can stop an Avada Kedavra, Miss Black. Imagine this to be a thousand killing curses that never miss."

Bellatrix had flushed a deathly pale, her cheeks so hollow they looked reminiscent to the reflection Hermione had seen the first few weeks she had taught at Hogwarts.

"Bloody, disgusting, saggy - " Narcissa cussed angrily, quite a different take on the situation than her sister.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, decided that the situation was summed up quite nicely one one word. That that word happened to be a muggle swear didn't really matter at that point.

"Shit."

\- Linebreak -

It had been a tough day for Hermione when she had discovered the whereabouts of Sirius Black. She had ignorantly wandered away from the room that Bellatrix had designated she would stay, unaware of the repercussions.

It wasn't her permanent residence, of course, simply until the clamor died down. The Black household wasn't particularly fond of her anyway, ever since she had verbally sparred with Walburga the day before.

She heard a groaning coming the room and her curiosity got the better of her. Stupidly, she crept into the room, unarmed, with only her hand to protect her. Instantly, the light turned on and she spun around, completely confused that a muggle motion detector had been placed by the door.

"Password," the witch croaked coldly. Hermione felt a sinking feeling pool in her stomach as she wondered if the Black Sisters weren't the only ones hiding.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good?" the attempt was weak at best, but she wasn't ready to give up. "Wormtail, Moony, Padfoot and Prongs." The portrait's gaze clearly conveyed that she was an idiot.

"Ah," she said finally, after a few minutes of pointless guesses. "Mischief Managed." The hobbled witch in front of her looked, with no small amount of disgust, at Hermione.

"Correct," she hissed disdainfully, the portrait slowly opening. Hermione ran into the room, unorthodoxly shoving the painting aside in her worry.

"I hate mudbloods," the gnarled face growled, still in the process of opening. Hermione was far too concerned with the sight in front of her to pay any attention.

"Sirius?" she breathed. "Snuffles, can you hear me?"

"What the… the hell... shit is a snuffle?" the muted voice came under a mountain of covers and layers upon layers of blood.

"Thank god you're awake." Hermione put her finger on his wrist, feeling his pulse flicker feverishly.

"Who're you," he mumbled, looking quite as if he was hallucinating. His arm had been mangled that she was afraid it would never be the same, and his back had the imprints of purple bruises and whip marks. He tugged at her wild hair feverishly, as if trying to remember.

"'Mione…?" he mumbled, and Hermione's heart froze. Her fingers, that had been casting quick, wandless healing spells had stopped in mid flight, rising slightly towards his forehead.

"I am so sorry Sirius," she whispered, placing her right hand on his forehead. " _Obliviate._ " She didn't quite know what had happened, but placed a chaste kiss on his forehead as he fell into unconsciousness.

"I have to get him to the Potters," she murmured to herself, but was too fearful to apparate. And yet she was even more terrified of leaving him alone in the house. With a grunt, she gathered him into her arms, carefully avoiding her arms as she cast a featherlight charm and levitated him just above her shoulder.

"Potter house, point me," she whispered, her magical aura leading her directly into the heart of Great Britain. She cast a small glamour that would fool both muggles and wizards alike, creating the illusion that he was, quite literally, a sack of potatoes.

She silently made her way to the front of the Black household, intending to descend out of the window, but unintentionally knocked over the same umbrella stand that had been her reassurance when she had arrived.

There was a small clang, and she had almost thought she had gotten away when,

"Where are you going?" Regulus stood watching her, leaning casually against the window sill. Hermione's heart gave a little jump as she prepared to fight him, but his eyes flickered to the item she was carrying. His posture seemed to still and his face clenched.

"Is that my brother?" He asked softly, and Hermione stared at him, her eyes demanding an explanation of his knowledge.

"You forgot to hide the blood," he said simply, and she immediately realized that she had indeed done just that. There was a large trail of red splattered across the hall.

Regulus flicked her wand, but instead of hurting her, it simply vanished the blood. He glanced at the window once more. "I hate him, but he's my kin. Get the blood traitor out of here."

Hermione smiled at him, repeating her previous request from days before. "Mr. Black, can I please call you Regulus? You are a noble person and I feel as if we could become good friends."

He sneered slightly. "Noble is the last word one would describe a Slytherin, Professor, but..." he had a contemplating expression. "You may."

"Thank you," Hermione said, the grin still vivid on her face. "Pureblood snake."

"Mudblood," he retorted, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his face. Hermione just studied him once more, her seriousness returning.

"Thank you Regulus." He just nodded, suddenly stiff again as recognized the casual moment as being over. Hermione hugged him quickly, and he seemed unsure on how to respond. Once she had released him from one of her designated 'death hugs' she patted his cheek kindly.

"I mean it, Regulus." She sighed, knowing that he wouldn't believe her. "Thank you." He studied her, the same curious look on his face that had been present days before.

"I saw nothing," he replied, his voice tinged with both warmth and cold.

Hermione nodded in acceptance, transfiguring the blood into flour as she left and leaving a trail of white in her wake. She silently scaled the building, adding an invisible cushion below her as she lightly landed on her toes.

Hermione quietly set off through the busy streets, a notice-me-not charm prominent in her aura. She walked quickly, an urgency in her pace that had not previously been there. She followed the magical guide, following the small glowing arrow that made itself known in the corner of her eye.

It might have been hours, days, but all she knew was that she had to save Sirius Black. Hermione padded on steadily, ignoring the jostling people and busy sellers. Finally, she arrived at what she knew to be Potter Manor.

Despite her exhaustion, she was still too fearful to teleport through the wards for fear she would kill him. Instead, she steeled herself.

"Expecto Pa - " nothing but silvery mist shot from her fingers. Hermione growled in frustration, she had tried the method of communication several times throughout the journey but none had worked due to her lack of happy memories.

Forcing herself not to think of her friends, she briefly tried to think of someone, anyone who had survived the battle. There was no one, but she had one small consolation.

"Teddy Lupin," she said aloud, concentrating on the happiness that radiated from the small child. " _Expecto Patronum_." The small otter emerged, chattering after being contained for so long. Hermione smiled even as her heart cracked.

The jack russell was dead, and she was alone.

Her otter squirmed as pain twinged, threatening to fade as Hermione nearly gave in to her sadness. Hermione quickly shook her head, dispelling the negative thoughts and forced the positive forward.

"Rosalie Lovett, requesting permission to enter Potter Household. Sirius Black has been gravely injured and I have brought him here to heal." She finished the voice message, nodding ever so slightly to her glowing companion as it scampered forward, the urgency of her actions propelling it forward.

Within seconds, the wards were lowered, and Mrs. Potter had rushed outside, James only a second behind her.

"Prongs," Sirius mumbled, flashing in and out of consciousness. "'Mione Prongs, Her...Mione." Hermione's stomach froze once again, emotions shattering as she realized she couldn't obliviate him once again. Mrs. Potter turned to her, a rage unlike anything Hermione had ever seen boiling in her eyes.

"What did you do to him!" She roared, sounding much more lion than snake. " _What did you do to him_?" Her face was flushed red with fury and she had raised her hand cast a spell before Hermione had a single moment to respond.

Hermione responded in kind, dodging the hand and instantly plucking the weapon out of her grasp. Within seconds she had pinned the older woman to the floor and had the wand pointed into the hollow of Mrs. Potter's neck.

Even the man who she assumed to be James's father had his wand pointed at Hermione. There was a tense silence that was only broken by Sirius's hoarse coughing.

"I just brought him here," she managed to snarl, the adrenaline still pumping in her veins. "I just risked my life, refusing to _apparate_ , to bring him here. I just walked, for hours, in a place that is swarming with Death Eaters looking for _me_ , to save my student's life."

The fight seemed to drain out of Mrs. Potter as her words struck home. As she began to slowly realize that her family was not, in fact, in danger, her body relaxed and the beginnings of dread seemed to form in her eyes.

"I should snap this wand right now," Hermione growled, the Potters all tensing at her words, "and I would, if it wasn't for the protection of my students." Hermione threw the stick at her feet, glowering at her. Despite that, she still offered her a reluctant hand, and Mrs. Potter took it, shame the only feature on her face.

"And now," Hermione said stiffly, "we help Sirius."

* * *

 **I am so sorry for the delay. I know I said we'd have a quick chapter but I've been very busy lately. Thank you for giving it a long wait, I hope this chapter Exceeds Expectations!**


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